No Peace in Sleep
by Mitrus
Summary: England's past, as we all know, was often traumatic and depressing. So what happens when he has to relive all of those memories in vivid, lucid nightmares? (the sequel will begin at some point in the near future, but for England it'll be the far future - we're time skipping)
1. Prologue

Christopher Patten steps up to the podium as I look on from the audience.

The last few years have been tough for me. I'm not sure how much more I can take; how many more countries I can stand to watch as they leave me. Then again, there aren't that many left, anyway...

"Your Royal Highness, Prime Minister, Distinguished Guests, People of HK," he begins.

Why? Was my rule unjust?

"For Hong Kong as a whole, today is cause for celebration, not sorrow. But here and there, perhaps there will be a touch of personal sadness as is true of any departure, a point to which I shall return."

"You're right about that," I mutter. I look over towards Hong Kong, who is watching with his normal, expressionless face. I'm sure he's 'kinda, like' jumping for joy inside.

"History is not just a matter of dates. What makes history is what comes before and what comes after the dates that we all remember. The story of this great city is about the years before this night, and the years of success that will surely follow it."

The years of success...the phrase echoes in my head, becoming harsher each time. The years of success without me.

The years of success in which the British Empire is no more and I will have vanished off the face of this planet.

"Of course, Hong Kong's story is not solely that of the century and a half of British responsibility, though it is the conclusion of that chapter that we mark tonight."

Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by depression. It's time to conclude another chapter. There are only so many chapters to every story and I'm convinced that this is the last one.

"This chapter began with events that, from today's vantage point, at the end of the following century, none of us here would wish or seek to condone."

Heh. You might have just crossed the line there. You could at least show some respect for your own country who's going to cease to exist at midnight.

"But we might note that most of those who live in Hong Kong now do so because of events in our own century which would today have few defenders. All that is a reminder that sometimes we should remember the past the better to forget it."

I'm going to cease to exist. I'm going to die. I'm going to become the past, and you're just giving a speech that is half against your nation's actions and half cryptic.

"What we celebrate this evening is the restless energy, the hard work, the audacity of the men and women who have written Hong Kong's success story. Mostly Chinese men and Chinese women."

You're pausing every two words. Must you drag this speech on? Can I at least enjoy my final moments here without having my umpteenth loss of land rubbed in my face?

I drum my fingers on the armrest impatiently. I can't stand this anymore. It's just too much for even the mighty - once mighty - British Empire to take!

"They were only ordinary in the sense that most of them came here with nothing. They are extraordinary in what they have achieved against the odds."

Hang on. Is this about them or about me? Possibly I'm acting narcissistic, but...

I feel a small boost of self-confidence. I guess I have been rather successful in the past millennium, even starting off from a small island. I have conquered a quarter of the world in my time!

I start building up a feeling of self-worth again. Do I really need to be sad when I've always been so great?

"As British administration ends..."

Reality hits me like a sack full of bricks. That was the past, when I was the British Empire. Now what am I? Nobody wants to be under my rule anymore.

One by one, they've all turned against me. Overwhelmed me. What am I now? A small island. I'm back to square one.

Most of the rest of the speech passes in a blur as I bury myself in self-deprecation. Nothing matters anymore. I'm weak and worthless. I'll return home after this, and nobody will be there to greet me. If anyone even talks to me, it'll be Hong Kong rubbing his freedom in my face, or France teasing me and calling me the black sheep of Europe again, or America laughing at me...

"I said that tonight's celebration will be tinged for some with sadness."

Nowhere near to mine, I think as I feel my eyes watering.

"So it will be for my family and myself and for others who like us will soon depart from this shore."

I'll be departing from this shore much sooner than you...I have to leave this place. I can't let the world see me crying yet again, I have a reputation to keep up!

"I am the 28th governor."

What shred of a reputation do I have left, anyway...

"The last governor."

No. No no no. I want to scream. I can't take this anymore!

A tear runs down my cheek.

Please say the cameras aren't turned towards me, please...

I get to my feet.

It's too much.

Stepping over everyone on my row, a voice inside my head tells me that it's improper to leave in the middle of such an important event, but I'm beyond caring.

I feel eyes on me. Hong Kong's staring at me, I notice in my peripheral vision, although it's blurred with tears.

"You have been kind to us. You have made us as welcome."

After leaving as discreetly as possible (when you're not expected to be leaving) and turning the corner, I break into a run. I run and run, my constant tears leaving two trails down my cheeks. Some fall to the floor, some slide down my neck, some dampen my collar.

Nothing means anything to me anymore but getting out of there and going back to my last refuge, Britain itself. Britain myself.

I run onto the high street, seeing the many residents of Hong Kong gathered by every TV screen showing the speech.

"Now, Hong Kong people are to run Hong Kong."

Is there no escape? Every street I run down, I can hear his voice, from one speaker or another.

"That is the promise."

Damn it all! I intended to leave to avoid this part of the speech but Lady Fate doesn't care, does she?

"And that is the unshakeable destiny."

A cry rings out, a cheer from the city's people. His speech is over. The sound of clapping and whistling from the televisions mixes with the shouting and whooping of the people.

They're happy to be free from me, huh...

I sink to my knees in defeat.

They're happy to be free from me.

My eyes sting from crying, but the tears are ongoing. Even after so many colonies left me, I'm still not used to this feeling...the wretched pain, twisting my insides, making me feel physically ill.

The rain still hasn't stopped. Perfect pathetic fallacy. Also perfect to remind me of one of the first to claim independence.

Shakily, I stand up. Kneeling on the ground isn't going to get me home anytime soon. I break into a run again.

I need to get to the docks.

One street after another, it's all the same. Barely anyone takes notice of the out-of-place British gentleman, running through the streets with tears in his eyes.

I'm breathless by the time I reach the docks. I hadn't prepared myself for that much physical exertion. My breathing is fast and shallow, shaky with crying.

"Mr. Kirkland, sir?"

I look at the man who said this - my boat's captain. Long gone are the days of my mighty ships. Now, I get around on a motorised boat. The thought agonises me further and my voice freezes up in my throat.

"Home?" he simply asks, and I nod, walking onto the boat.

He unties the rope holding the boat there and starts the engine. It splutters into motion as we sail away.

I slide to the ground. There is no way I can bear to look back. Not now, nor ever would I get over this. Not ever.

However, I'm not going to last that long, am I?

I hiccup as I try to speak. Keeping my feelings bottled up inside...I've always considered that the worst thing to do.

"This...this is the end of the British Empire," I muster. "I-I'm going to-I'm g-going to..."

He looks at me pitifully. My eyes meet his and I can see it. He knows my fate.

"I'm going to die," I say.

His expression doesn't change.

"I...am going...to DIE!" I reiterate. "I'm not going to be here tomorrow and you don't even care!"

"You've lived a long life."

I can hear that his voice is hoarse, roughened after years of being at sea, shouting at his crew.

"You're over a millennium old, and you've lived a good life."

"No...no..."

I start to cry again. I don't even know how I'm still able to, but I do. I guess it's raining back home.

It's not raining here, though. We've left Hong Kong behind - I didn't want to die there.

Far behind, in fact. The calm sea surrounds us as the sun is shining on, taunting me with the beauty of the world when I'm so close to leaving it behind.

"You've had so many good experiences - it must've been fun as a pirate, right? And I bet so many days were spent in tranquility, walking through proper English gardens with a cup of tea..."

"So many more were spent in hardship!" I shouted. "I've had to endure so many fights, including two world wars! I have no friends that other people think are real! America is such a...such a bloody git...and it had to rain during that one time, so every time it rains, I remember. And it rains all the bloody time!"

"There must've been someone you loved...?"

I pause. Why does he have to mention this?

"America. Canada. Seychelles. Hong Kong. Many more. I loved them as my children - I raised them..."

"I hate to say this, sir, but...they grew up. Isn't the responsibility of being a parent just too much on top of your responsibilities as a country?"

My next exhalation shudders as I remember all of the pain.

"It was nothing compared to how much I'd wanted them to stay..."

"You must've had some more loves in your time, I mean, you couldn't have raised them alone..."

"You mean France?" I ask, growing irate. "Frog-face? He made every single day I spent with him hell."

"Did you...really love him?"

"That's not important!" I snap. "I-I have loved some people, but it never ends well! It's not just the nations I raised...in fact, it's not just nations. I was married. To Elizabeth I, that is. But...she grew old and died. I cried so much over her grave. The worst thing is that I was never going to grow old, I was never going to forget for the centuries, maybe millennia to come. Even now, though...I don't want to die. There was also Belgium - I swore I'd protect her, and what happened? I ended up in the First World War, for crying out loud!"

"So, your bad memories outnumber your good ones?"

"Probably."

"Therefore you won't have any more if you die?"

I choke in surprise.

"Are you suggesting that I want to die?" I shriek. "I want to live, but, but...I don't know what for, for the sake of living, maybe! I have a duty here, and that is to protect my people...I can't die! If I die, what happens to them?"

I breathe heavily, affected by grief.

"WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM?" I scream.

He doesn't respond.

"I'm not sure, sir," he replies calmly.

The last hour - or hours? I don't know - of the journey passes without conversation. I have no strength left to speak, only to sob. The sorrow drains me, knowing I have nothing left.

We reach my homeland again. We reach square one.

The best place to die is right at home, after all.

I hop off the boat and walk along the coast. I pass many people on holiday by the coast, enjoying their lives. Few care about the loss of another colony. I guess they were sure it was bound to happen. They were right.

I find an empty beach and step down the stairs, my feet treading on blocks of stone followed by pebbles.

The sandy beaches nearby had attracted all of the holiday-goers, leaving the one I stand on deserted and unwanted.

Just like me.

The sea moves in and out, slowly. How many more times would it do that before my death, and how many times after?

I hear stones crunching under my feet as I walk towards the ocean. Deep in thought, I sit down, my toes in the water.

I stare out into the vastness, for the last time, until finally, the clock strikes midnight.

And everything fades to black.


	2. 5:12 AM

**In case you don't know your recent history, the prologue was set on the 30th of July, 1997. From now on, the date will remain ambiguous but it's around today.**

**I hope you're enjoying this, because you have no idea how great it was to wake up in the morning and see that I had around 50 views and two followers :D**

**Well, you might have some idea. Thanks for the views :)**

**Anyway, I'll let you read now.**

* * *

My eyes open reluctantly as my alarm goes off, far too loudly for my liking.

"Bloody hell," I mutter, turning over to see the time.

5:12 AM? You have got to be kidding me. I remember setting it for 7:00!

I hit the stop button and roll over again. I try to fall asleep but I can't, despite how tired I am.

Then I notice it - something doesn't feel right.

I sit up wearily, rubbing my eyes. After flinging the covers off and myself round so that my feet are touching the floor, I get up.

I look around the room. The green carpet is warm and welcoming under my toes; nothing has been moved from my bedside table. I just have the typical things: a photo of all us Allies from the Second World War, my alarm clock and one of my spellbooks (the one for protection, which has been there since the last 'incident'...).

I check under my bed next. All of my black magic spellbooks are there, and so are my other spellbooks on the bookshelf.

Concluding that my room is as normal, I open the door and decide to ensure that everyone else is still in the other bedroom. By everyone else, I mean Flying Mint Bunny, the fairies, Uni, etcetera.

As I walk along the corridor, I look in the mirror and freeze.

"This had better be a joke," I say to myself.

I take in the sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is jet black, but otherwise exactly the same. My irises are red and I can see a faint aura around me - black with wavering patterns, possibly figures.

My heartbeat speeds up, panicky.

"The fairies probably just wanted to trick me," I laugh, trying to reassure myself. "They magicked my hair black and eyes red. However they managed to make this aura, I should ask."

I look over myself in more detail. My ears are slightly pointed and my skin is paler than normal. Apart from that, nothing looks different.

I stare and stare. This is the point at which I'd wake up from a dream, right?

But I don't wake up. Although I pinch myself, despite how cliché it is, nothing changes. I return to my theory that the fairies tricked me.

"Fortunately I know all of their tricks," I say to myself, returning to my bedroom. "Nevertheless, I'd better sort it out before the conference at 9:00 today."

I look through my bookshelves until I find the one titled 'Undoing Spells'.

The time on the alarm clock reads 5:14. Weird, I swear I wouldn't have got up, searched my bedroom and stared at myself in the mirror within two minutes.

There's no way time is slowing down. That magic is more powerful than time itself, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing more powerful than time.

I leaf through the book until I find a page to reverse .

Mumbling the spell, I feel power accumulating around me, coming ever closer. I visualise my normal self - emerald green eyes, blonde hair, unpointed ears, no aura.

I chant the incantation more loudly as I reach the end, until I yell the final word.

The power spirals around me as if I'm in the middle of a tornado. It tugs at me, swaying my hair in all directions.

The tornado becomes thinner until it envelops me with energy and I hold my breath, just in case breathing would affect the changes.

My eyes close, but not of my own accord. Then, suddenly, the power dissipates. I open one eye in anticipation, followed by the other.

The tornado is gone, but I feel no different. I look up at my fringe. Still black. I feel my ears. Still pointed. I check the time. Still slow.

I decide I need help, and who better to call for help with magic than Romania?

I go downstairs to the phone and check my conveniently placed list of numbers for Romania's. I enter his number into the phone and hold it to my ear.

Brooooop brooooop. Brooooop...

Argh, I forgot how slow everything else is!

After what feels like an eternity, Romania picks up the phone.

"Why did you have to call THIS early?" he asks slowly.

Oh yeah. It's only around 5:15 or so by now.

"I need your help!" I reply.

"Stop speaking so fast!"

"No, you stop speaking so slowly!"

"As far as I know, I'm speaking at a perfectly normal speed. You stuck in a spell that slows down time or something?"

"That's why I called," I reply, forcing myself to speak agonisingly slowly.

"Have you considered the possibility," he started, speeding up slightly for my sake, "that it's not time that slowed down, it's you who sped up?"

"Not really, but it does seem likely."

"Any slowing spell should do the trick. Anyway, I'd like to get back to sleep, so b-"

"Wait!" I cut in. "There's more than that!"

Out of panic as the reality of the situation dawns over me again, I speed up while explaining but, since I'm speaking too fast from his point of view anyway, I slow down once more. I tell him everything - every detail of my appearance that changed and how the reversing spell hadn't worked.

"Mm-hm. I'd say you're under the influence of some powerful magic. Sort out your speed and I'll talk to you later, okay? Get to the conference half an hour early. I'll bring some stuff and see what I can do."

"Okay then," I respond, "I'll see you there, I guess."

"Bye!" he says, hanging up.

I check the time again: 5:16.

I could probably do something productive in a huge amount of time like this, but all I currently care about is freeing myself from the curse.

Actually, I could have some fun with this...if I was super-fast at the meeting...

A mischievous smile breaks across my face.

"This'll be fun..."


	3. Super-speed and Name tags

**Sorry for the delay, my Internet was being annoying -_-. Happy Halloween, everyone! :D**

**Enjoy the updates while they're fast, because it's going to be the end of half term soon.**

**There's a little bit of German and Romanian in this one, but it's pretty easy to figure out.**

**Bist du krank? = Are you ill?**

* * *

I look at the alarm clock and try to judge how much slower it is - I mean, how much faster I am.

7:34:10; 7:34:11; 7:34:12...

I think that every second there is about three seconds from my view. Therefore, I've been doing nothing but walking around the house aimlessly and reading a book for the equivalent of six hours...? Wow.

I know, that's not the usual reaction to curses but it's not like I've never been cursed before. However, I've grown to like these eyebrows.

Three times the speed, huh...how much fun could I have with that?

I smirk and stand up from my bed. If I have to get to the world conference half an hour early, I should get a move on now. Luckily, it's over here this month.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower, seeing the water fall at a slow speed. I look at it as if entranced before remembering that even if time seems slower, it's still ticking away.

Getting ready at record speed, I decide to check on my friends. Maybe one of them got this curse as well?

However, as I open the door, they're all fine and still asleep.

I leave the house, locking the door behind me. I check my watch and notice that I have half an hour to get there in time to see Romania. Or, to me, an hour and a half.

Looking around, I take in the fact that there are people around now, and I can, as America would say, totally freak them out. I might as well make the most of this curse.

They all walk so slowly. I chuckle.

Then I break out into a run, for the fun of it. I watch as their heads sluggishly turn to acknowledge me.

My rare mischievous streak is really showing now as I imagine what I look like to them - do I pass like a blur? Probably.

I forgo getting on the bus, since it's just too slow for me now.

It feels like I own the world, just the freedom of running with everyone else being too slow to stop me; looking at me in amazement.

The adrenaline fuels me as I feel like I'm floating. I take many prolonged routes so I can enjoy being the fastest. All too soon, the conference hall is in sight, and it's almost 8:30.

I burst through the front door and then the double doors of the conference room, almost slamming into Romania before I stop myself. Weirdly, even after running non-stop for so long, I'm not even the slightest bit worn out.

He turns around and looks at me. And looks at me. For ages.

"Do you have to stare at me for that long?" I shout, making him flinch.

"So you didn't bother to cast the spell?" he asks, trying to speak quickly enough for me.

"This is the all-too-perfect way for me to get revenge on so many countries for so many things!" I explain slowly.

He sighs. "Enjoy your extra-long conference then," he replies, grinning.

I hadn't thought about that.

"Well, I did bring the spellbook with me, so I can sort it out anytime."

"Make sure you do get round to causing some mischief beforehand, because these meetings do get kinda boring after a while!"

"Oh I will. But won't the other nations think that something's up when I look like THIS?" I ask, gesturing to my hair and eyes.

"Oh yeah, I brought some stuff to fix that," he says, rummaging in his pockets.

Then, against my expectations of him having a spellbook or something to hand, he pulls out some spray-on blonde hair dye and green contact lenses.

I look at him, my facial expression being eloquent in itself as if to ask "seriously?" but I say that anyway.

"You said the spell didn't work," he explains, "so I brought non-magical solutions. Here."

He hands the objects to me and I notice that I'm starting to get used to the speed difference. I take them from his hands and we head over to the loos, him running and me walking, just so I can see in the mirror to disguise myself properly.

As I'm spraying the blonde hair dye on my hair, he points out that my ears will still be pointy.

"Nothing to worry about," I reassure him, "it's not like anyone's going to stare at them, they're not completely obvious."

Checking my hair from different angles, I decide that's over and done with and tell Romania to catch the bottle before throwing it over to him. It still feels weird to watch everything moving in slow motion, but I must say, it's quite cool.

I turn back to the mirror and pick up the contact lenses from the counter. I pop them in one by one, not expertly. However, I have worn coloured ones before after a dare and again for Halloween when I didn't have the energy to magic my eyes a different colour instead.

"That was quick," he comments, and I roll my eyes.

"What did you expect?" I retort, as we walk out again.

We then return to the conference hall and find our allocated seats, but mine's so far away from his...

"Hey, Anglia, first piece of mischief for the day - swap around some of the name tags!"

"Why don't you do it?"

"I don't know," he replies sarcastically (hey, sarcasm's MY thing!), "maybe because you can do it at three times the speed and finish before Germania gets here?"

I'll just ignore the unintended double entendre there.

"Okay, fine," I reply.

I look at the name tags. Whose great idea was it to put me between France and America? I wrinkle my nose in disgust and move mine next to Romania's. Then I move Germany's next to Romano's and Greece's next to Turkey's.

My plan today is to create chaos. A thrill courses through me - how much have I missed out on?

I continue rearranging seats: America next to Russia, with Cuba on the other side of the former and Belarus on the other side of the latter. Prussia - wait, why is he still here? Oh well. Between Germany and Austria he goes. Spain should go next to Romano to embarrass him and then Italy on the other side of Spain. Surely he was going to get on his brother's and Germany's nerves.

I hesitate at Liechtenstein's. She is nice, but...oh, whatever, she's going between France and Switzerland, who's next to Austria.

Then I notice that this entire line-up is right next to my place, so I move mine and Romania's name tags to the opposite side of the long, curved table. I mean, it's much easier to watch events unfold from the front and not the side.

"Did you move yours next to mine?" Romania asks. "I need to keep an eye on you in case you go insane or something - we don't know the full extent of this spell yet."

"Yes," I respond, jumbling up the rest of the name tags because I don't have every country's relationships memorised, do I?

I discard one written in scribbly handwriting labelled "Sealand". Nice try.

Just then, I hear footsteps coming down the hall.

"Quick!" I whisper to Romania, before dragging him to our (new) seats. He seems dazed - no wonder since I've just dragged him at super-speed.

"Oh, England, Romania, I see you're here early," says Germany. Of course, he's always early to these meetings.

"Hi, Germania!" Romania replies friendlily.

"Hallo," he grunts, finding his name tag and sitting down there.

Great, now I have to put up an act of moving and talking slowly.

"England, bist du krank? You look a bit pale."

I don't reply, considering how I'd probably sound really weird even if I slowed down my speech. Too high-pitched, still. Instead, I look at Romania for him to give an answer.

"Um, Anglia isn't feeling too well, you see, there's a small economic crisis going on where he lives," he explains.

"I see," he replies, satisfied by this explanation.

An awkward silence fills the room as Germany shuffles his papers.

I lay out all of my things too, making sure I slow down whenever Germany can see me.

I write a note to Romania.

"I don't think I'll really be able to keep this façade up during my speech. What mischief were you planning exactly so I can get it over and done with?"

I push it towards him and he reads it before giving me his reply.

"Putting a whoopee cushion on someone's seat? I dunno."

We continue this conversation on paper for a while.

"Yeah, and tell me where I'd get this whoopee cushion from."

"How about a drawing pin instead?"

"I don't tend to carry those around with me either."

"Pull someone's chair away as they're about to sit down?"

"That'd put me in the limelight..."

"If you're such a chicken, nothing's gonna happen."

"I'm sorry if I DON'T want to get into deep trouble."

"Alright, why not cause some trouble before the meeting?"

"Go on, but be quick, there are only fifteen minutes."

He spends a bit longer than usual writing before handing me a list of ideas. I smile wickedly as I read them. Childish stunts, yes, but funny nonetheless.

"Let's do this," I write, before we both stand up. Germany looks up to acknowledge us, next at the clock, and then back to the papers he was organising and scanning through.

I copy Romania's pace as we head out of the conference room. We then continue towards the front door and my first prank victim enters.

France the bloody garlicky frog-faced git.


	4. Pranking France

**Sorry for the delay! I had to actually get my homework done today and we spent the entire day at Legoland (woop woop) yesterday...on top of that, my iPod, which I was writing this on, crashed five seconds before I would've copied it all and I lost it :( but I wrote it again today! Enjoy, guys, and thanks for your patience!**

**These delays might become more frequent because of school from Monday onwards, sorry!**

* * *

The git practically skips over to us. I try my best to bottle up my rage at him and act panicked for the sake of this joke.

"Angleterre? Roumanie? Quel est le problème?" he queries.

"England and I...we were trying out a spell," Romania begins.

"A time travel spell!" I add.

"But there was a problem: a past version of England was transported here..."

"I thought you two had enough magical stamina between you to send him back? Or am I mistaken and you're just hopeless without moi?" France jeers.

"We're talking about pirate me here, you frog," I comment.

"And because I'm superior to you when it comes to sword fighting, you need moi, non?"

"I hate to admit it..." I begin, before France cuts me off.

"Bien, I shall assist you."

"There isn't much time! He might destroy everything or kill someone, so we'd better get going!" Romania says, walking down the corridor for us to follow.

Phase 2.

"You two go ahead; I need to warn the others."

I excuse myself and, when out of sight, sprint at full speed directly back to my house. I reach it in a matter of minutes and carry on along the side of it, down to my garden. I come up to some stairs but I just leap down them. Before me is an old treasure chest of mine, one of the many places where I keep mementoes of my life's achievements. Not only America does that, you know!

Throwing it open, the familiar sheen of two blades resting atop my old pirate outfit greets me. I glance behind me, making sure that nobody's watching, and hurriedly get changed. I know it's improper to do so outside, but there simply isn't any time. My ghost neighbour doesn't mind, anyway.

Having changed, I pick up the swords and run out of the garden. I remember about my other outfit - I can't really sit through a conference in pirate gear - and turn on my heel to grab it.

Finally sure that I have everything, I run off again. I hold the swords close to me so that I don't accidentally cut someone's finger off on the way.

You know how when you're young, your parents teach you never to run with scissors? Well, never run with swords either, because at the moment I'm giving myself a pretty painful gash on my left forearm. Luckily, my sleeves don't go that far, because this outfit is priceless to me!

I make it back to the building, smiling as I see on my watch that only three (or nine, to me) minutes have passed. There's a reason I hosted the Olympics this year!

I duck into an alleyway next to the building so I can enter through the back door. The door, fortunately, isn't locked, and it slides open soundlessly. I find a random, empty room and stash my clothes behind a screen.

"COME OUT AND FACE ME, YE COWARDS!" I bellow, hoping to attract Frog-face's attention.

Sure enough, France throws the door open a short while later, with a 'terrified' Romanian cowering behind him.

"Angleterre," he says, with a tone of true malice in his voice - to such an extent I haven't heard it for years. That's not the sort of tone you use when bickering, that's the sort of tone you use when you're about to kill someone!

"Ah, France," I reply, trying to hide the nervous quaver in my voice. Damn it, I'm not afraid of him! We've fought for centuries, why do I feel like...like this? Is it just because I haven't seen him this way for so long?

"You don't belong here," he continues. "I'm sending you back. Now."

"Bring it on," I challenge, throwing him a sword. I chuckle as he narrowly avoids slicing the sleeve of his stupid blue cape off.

"Out of practice?" I taunt, smirking, as he picks up the sword from the floor, ashamed. My fear fades away; it seems that I have the upper hand now.

"N-non, I just..."

He seems truly embarrassed, but as he turns to me and slashes at my chest, I realise it was all an act. If it weren't for my super-speed my precious outfit, not to mention my pride, would be ruined, but I manage to parry his attack.

We fight on for a while, with me slowing my actions down so I don't get the upper hand, but not so much that he does, before I move at my normal speed.

With ease, I flick the blade out of his hands and, using a swift and powerful kick to the chest, I knock him to the ground. The tip of my blade hovers just millimetres from his throat as the room falls silent, save for our breathing.

"Angleterre, how did you-?" he asks, shocked, as his sword clatters to the ground.

"Like I said, ye're out of practice. Now, do ye have any last words?"

Even after all these years, I'm still a natural at this pirate dialect, even in slow motion. He appears to be fully convinced that I actually am from the past... despite the fact that the energy required to use that sort of magic would render a nation unconscious and a human on the brink of death if not beyond.

"W-we're friends, right? Equals?"

A small voice in the back of my head tells me that I should finish him, now. Alright, so maybe I'm enjoying having this Frenchman entirely at my mercy but...I couldn't do that! This simply isn't the gentlemanly way to kill someone! Plus, he'd either not die or die and come back to life, wouldn't he?

I bring the blade slightly closer to his throat.

"A-A-ANGLETERRE!" he shrieks, clearly terrified. "OKAY, I ADMIT IT! YOU'RE SUPERIOR TO ME AND YOU ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!"

I stare at him, stunned by his words. People say the stupidest things when their lives are threatened, don't they?

I let a few seconds pass in silence before I look over to Romania. I give him a nod, his cue to drop the façade, and we both break out into fits of laughter. Meanwhile, I quickly draw the sword away from France's neck because I'm laughing so hard it's difficult to keep my hand steady.

He looks around in confusion.

"You...you should've seen your face!" I chuckle.

"YOU'RE SUPERIOR TO ME AND YOU ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!" Romania shouts out in a total mockery of a French accent.

"Ha, ha, très bon," France comments, getting up.

I give Romania a high-five as I pass him on the way to getting my clothes. As I'm picking up the swords, he informs me that there are only two minutes until the conference starts, so I need to get changed as quickly as possible.

"No problem for me," I grin, as we walk out of the room with a stunned Frog still inside.

He walks off along a corridor to the left to go to the conference room.

"By the way," he says over his shoulder, "nice fake wound on your arm! It really looks realistic!"

Oh yeah, I'm bleeding.


	5. During the Conference

**My insanely intelligent friend lectured me on all of the space-time stuff that would mean England's surroundings are actually speeding up. Every time I wrapped my head around it, he undermined my thought process, so I just said that he's under the influence of magic, CASE CLOSED, and we just left it at that.**

**Same goes to anyone over-analysing this XD**

**School restarts tomorrow, so the updates will probably become less and less frequent, but I won't abandon this unless I'm out of ideas! And trust me, I've planned almost all of this vaguely and some of it in detail.**

**This is kind of a filler chapter, but anyway, enjoy~!**

* * *

I stare at myself in the mirror. My disguise seems to be holding up, apart from the pointy ears. There are a few excuses for pale skin, but not many for misshapen ears. My messy hair partially obscures them anyway, so it's not a big deal.

The cut on my arm, however, is. All of the motion from the little sword fight earlier opened it up a bit and it stings. I wince as I pull my jacket over it, the cloth scraping against the wound. I cast a quick healing charm to speed up the healing and dash back to the conference room.

I open the door. A few heads turn to acknowledge me, but Romania beckons for me to sit down quickly anyway, so I comply.

"This is all going as planned," he whispers, "and Germania himself is distracted so he can't yell at everyone to shut up like he normally does!"

"You're welcome," I reply, concentrating on the ensuing chaos. Usually I'm in the middle of it, but not this time.

"Onhonhon~ Liechtenstein, you're looking très beau today~"

"STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER, YOU PERVERT!"

"Do you really need to bring a gun with you everywhere? Why don't I start hauling my grand piano around wherever I go, while we're at it?"

"Shut up, bruder, your piano is so unawesome!"

"Take that back at once!"

"Ita-chan, you are sooooo cute!"

"Ve~"

"D-dammit...you bastard...you prefer fratello?"

"That's not surprising, since you are nothing more than a foul-mouthed pain in the..."

"SHUT UP, POTATO BASTARD!"

"Of course you're still my favourite, Lovi~...your face REALLY looks like a tomato!"

"I have a much better friendship with Japan than you do!"

"If I didn't love my cats so much, I'd throw one at your face!"

"I kicked your ass back in 1897 and I can do it again now!"

"Brother...we must become one..."

"N-n-nyet!"

"Hahahaha! Not so scary now, are you, commie ba-urk!"

"If only you were as kind as your brother, America..."

Clearly nothing's going to happen in this meeting. While watching the results of this prank unfold, a wave of fatigue rolls over me - probably because of all of the running, fighting and magic I've done today. It must have been the adrenaline that kept me going. I guess I did wake up early as well, and I've been up for almost...4 hours, so at three times the speed...

"Wake me up if anything interesting happens," I write on some paper, before pushing it towards Romania. Well, it's easier than trying to talk slowly enough for him.

It doesn't take long for me to fall asleep.


	6. Just a Dream?

**School hasn't stopped me :D My friends keep talking about Two Broke Girls and which One Direction members they think are fit, etc...since I've taken no interest in their conversations, I've had writing time! Yay!**

**Personally I think this chapter doesn't have enough of a range of vocabulary, but I have to get on with homework now so I can't sort it out :( I'd love to hear what you guys think!**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

My eyes open, and the first thing I notice is that I'm not in the conference hall. I panic, getting up quickly. I've been slumped against a rock for some reason, instead of a chair.

I take in my surroundings. I'm in a cave, with four tunnels leading off in all directions.

Above me, there's a hole in the ceiling, letting light into the cavern, but it's a bit too high up to get out that way. By that, I mean it's about 30 metres above my head.

I catch sight of a faint light being emitted from one of the tunnels and, hoping for escape, I edge closer to it cautiously.

I stick my head around the corner and see two figures - one twice the size of the other. I dash behind a large rock in the tunnel so that I can hear their conversation.

"You idiot! I said that you weren't meant to do anything to him while he was awake!" the larger figure bellows, and I notice that he doesn't sound like he's talking slowly to me. Does that mean my super-speed's gone?

"I'm sorry...I thought it would torment him to have to sit through a much longer meeting!" replies the smaller figure. Even from his voice, I can tell that he's trembling like crazy.

"Thus granting him super-speed? He enjoyed it, you fool! That's not your job!"

They're talking about me?

"P-please, I meant for the best..."

"I've had enough of your mistakes! If you're so desperate to prove yourself, then I'll give you another chance, but it'll be your last!"

"I won't fail you this time, I promise," the small one responds happily.

"Good. I'll just reverse the effects of your silly curse now...and his stupid disguise, while I'm at it..."

"D-doesn't it feel like someone else's here?"

"Hm? Is it him?"

My heartbeat accelerates rapidly. I'd better run, but wouldn't they see me?

They seem distracted, so I decide to make a break for it.

"He's getting away!" cries the small one.

"Let him run," the other commands, as I feel myself slipping away from this reality, "he'll return soon enough."

* * *

"Anglia! Wake up!"

"Nn?" I murmur sleepily. The cave's gone; it was just a dream. But it was so vivid...and it felt so real...

"Your hair...it's fading to black again!"

"Why're you speaking at normal speed now?"

"I could ask you the s- you've lost your super-speed?"

"It would appear so," I reply, sitting up straight.

"But there were still more pranks on the list..."

"Well, it was good while it lasted."

"Hey! What happened to England's hair?" a voice cries out. I trace it to its source...America.

Bloody perfect.

And now everyone stops fighting and stares at me, just as my contact lenses fall out.

Didn't that person...thing, whatever, say that he...IT was reversing the effects of my "silly disguise"?

Some, especially that git who pointed me out in the first place, burst out laughing. Others just look at me, wordless, mouths agape.

I can't exactly explain this one, can I?

"That is not Arthur-san! He is a monster!"

"He looks, like, TOTALLY ridiculous!"

Norway stands up, marking a makeshift circle on the paper in front of him. I quickly identify it as...

One for taking care of evil spirits...

I look carefully at the markings. He's not going to just shoo me elsewhere, he's going to kill me!

Romania tugs at my arm, urging me to get a move on.

"Norway! Stop, it's me, Arthur! England!" I cry out, but he doesn't show any mercy.

"I've had this happen before," he responds, "and that's what they all say!"

He begins chanting an incantation and I stay in place, petrified.

If I don't do something now, I'm done for!

I cast a quick spell to silence his voice momentarily and sprint out of the room faster than Italy retreating, with Romania following not far behind.


	7. Norwegian Drama Queen

Outside the conference hall, I collapse in the corridor, shuddering.

"Anglia," Romania whispers, "are you okay?"

"What does it look like?" I snap.

He sits down on the floor next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I-it's fine, you're safe now," he tells me reassuringly. "I'll keep Norvegia away from you. In fact, we both can."

"Why...why does he want to kill me?" I ask in disbelief. "Can't he see that I'm me?"

He sighs. "Don't you remember what happened last year? When he came into the conference, saying he'd had a dream that we were all demons?"

"It was just a dream though! Dreams mean nothing; they're just sent to torture us!"

"You may be right, but Norvegia believes in prophetic dreams."

"And you know that because...?"

"The way he was panicking last year, he must've thought that his dream was real. Now, he thinks that the chaos is beginning."

I don't know how to respond, so I don't. The commotion inside the hall is barely audible from this distance - just outside the maximum distance Norway could've casted that spell.

"There's something I don't quite get," Romania comments.

"Maybe the fact that I somehow have black hair, red eyes and pointed ears?"

"That too. But, how come you didn't retort to what America said back there?"

"Good question," I reply. "I was just in shock - that...that dream..."

"Dream?" he queries.

"I dreamt just then that I was in a cave, listening to two people... I mean, things, talking about me. One was scolding the other for meddling with my speed, and it said that it would reverse the effects of my speed and disguise."

"Dreams mean nothing, do they?" he mutters, staring off into space.

"Ugh, fine, maybe I thought this one meant something!" I respond, throwing my hands up in frustration.

"Norge! Stop!" shouts a voice from the hallway.

"Get your hands off of me! It's not England, it's a monster! I have to destroy it before it destroys us!"

"Your dreams aren't real, brother," a monotone voice - Iceland - adds.

"I think that might be my cue to exit," I say, standing up.

"Don't you mean...our...?" Romania asks, his voice trailing off. "No, I am NOT leaving you behind!"

"If Norway's that intent on killing me," I sigh, "I want you to be safe at least, okay?"

"Don't be so morbid!" he replies, shocked.

"I'm going to get him - it! And it's going to pay for trying to pose as the real England!" cries out the Norwegian drama queen.

"I can't really go back, and I don't think your boss would like it if you missed out on writing notes as well."

"Nothing was going to happen in that meeting anyway!"

Damn it, I'm running out of excuses...

Well, it's not that I don't like his company, it's just that I want to be alone at the moment, to let everything sink in and think of what to do.

"Why are you so intent on following me around?" I snap.

"C-calm down, Anglia!" he exclaims, his eyes widening in fear.

"Stop being so scared!" I command. My 'tsundere' attitude, as Kiku calls it, prevents me from apologising.

"S-s-sorry!"

My heart tears in two hearing him being this afraid of me. I don't get it, it feels just like when Alfred used to cry, seeing me leaving...

I return my awareness to the present.

"R-Romania, it's okay," I mutter. "Am I scaring you that much?"

"Your eyes...they were glowing..."

"Really?"

"And...and that aura around you..."

"You can see it?"

"Only when you were mad at me," he replies, visibly calmer.

"It's a good thing I didn't show my anger back there, then," I chuckle.

"Romania's associating with it! He must be a monster too!"

"Anglia," he whispers, "let's get to your home. Quickly."

We run out of the building, thanking our luck that the other Nordics were restraining Norway.

"Wait a second!" I shout to Romania as we leg it across the square outside the conference building.

"There is no way I'm waiting with Norvegia coming after us!"

"Fine," I huff, "but I'll catch up!"

"Are you insane?" he yells after me as I run back to the building.

I enter through the side door, noticing that the atmosphere is much calmer. I find my pirate outfit and swords from before, and scoop them up.

I return to my house, ensuring that the swords stay far away from me this time. Maybe I gave one person a surprise haircut on the way, but that doesn't matter.

Giving Romania the keys so he can let himself in, I carefully replace the clothes and swords in the treasure chest and enter through the back door using the spare key under the doormat.

The first thing I see upon walking inside is a gun.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUUUN! Dramatic cliffhanger!**

**My follows on this have reached double figures, so this is my early celebratory chapter for you guys :D**

**This time the note's at the end for a bit of variety!**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)**


	8. Guns and Handcuffs

**Sorry for the chapters being shorter recently, but I figured it was best to cut this chapter off where I did.**

**Please tell me if you think the rating needs to go up!**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

The barrel hovers at my forehead, shaking. I look towards the figure holding the pistol.

There's so much emotion in their eyes - fear mixed with crazed anger and hatred. At first, I don't recognise the face due to my own fear and the foreign expression etched onto my attacker's face, but then it's obvious.

"Ro-Romania?" I stutter, dipping to one side of the gun.

"Anglia?" he asks, surprised.

"B-bloody hell! Why are you pointing a g-gun at me!"

"Um, scuze. I was expecting you to enter through the front door, so I thought you were Norvegia," he explains, lowering the gun slowly before dropping it to the floor. "I have no intent of killing you."

"I seriously don't think you need to go that far with defences!"

"It was just a precaution," he mutters.

Then there's an awkward silence.

"If you'd been trying to kill me, I'd most likely be dead by now, seeing as you're in my house and there aren't that many places to run."

"This house isn't necessarily safe from attackers on the outside, though."

"You're probably right," I reply, heading upstairs. "Come on, we've got a protection spell to do."

"Coming," he answers, keeping directly behind since the stairs aren't wide enough.

"Why did you even have a gun on you anyway?" I ask as we walk towards my bedroom.

"It was in your house," he responds.

I roll my eyes at him. "Did you steal anything else?"

"Look, if Norvegia had arrived at your house, I don't think I would've been fast enough to cast a spell at him before he'd cast one at me."

"Good point," I reply.

I push the door open, beckoning for Romania to enter.

Shutting the door behind me, I see Romania contemplating our surroundings, arms crossed.

"Handcuffs?" he asks, nodding towards the floor.

"Uh...uhhhmm..." I mutter, quickly kicking them under my bed. "You saw nothing."

He smirks mischievously. "Didn't you have a sleepover with America the other night?"

"WHAT?!" I exclaim. "He was just afraid to watch a movie alone and forced me to let him stay overnight! Nothing else happened!"

"Suuuuuuure it didn't."

"I'm being bloody serious here!"

"Your kinkiness isn't exactly a secret, you know."

"I-I'm not...!"

"Franta checked out your Internet history and told the entire world," he says, giggling.

"Wh-but...but I always clear it!"

He smiles deviously.

"He never saw my Internet history, did he?" I ask as the realisation sinks in.

He nods. "You're so easy to trick, Anglia."

"Shut up!" I yell, and he recoils in terror. I only notice now how it feels as if my eyes are burning.

He raises his arms defensively to cover his face, shaking.

"Argh, sorry," I mutter, willing my eyes to return to normal. Well, as in not glowing.

He carefully lowers his arms, not taking his eyes off of me the whole time.

"Who'd have thought that the nation of vampires would be afraid of me?" I muse.

"H-hey! It's only because I'm not used to seeing YOU like that, that's all..."

"Why would it be any different just because it's me?"

"I'm accustomed to you being angry, but that was just irritation... when you get angry now, it looks like you truly despise me!"

"Is that so?" I mutter, finally taking the magic book from my bedside table. "Would it be any different if I had fangs?"

"You're not really showing any traits of vampirism except maybe the black hair and pale skin, so that'd be kinda weird..."

"What the bloody hell AM I, then?" I mutter, brushing a light film of dust off of the book.

"I have no idea. Let's Google it after this spell's done," he replies, stepping slightly closer to me.

"Okay. Are you ready?" I ask.

"Of course," he says, shooting a grin in my direction.

I roll my shoulders back and exhale, head tilted upwards, eyes closed in preparation.

"Let's do this."


	9. Google

**I've been writing (detailed) plan-less ever since the end of the meeting, and it's fun :D but it does mean that sometimes, I don't know what I've been building up to XD**

**I think I made England act a little too immature for his personality here, but then again, who's fully mature around their best friends? (Not me, that's for certain)**

**Language notes: When Romania says 'Rusia', it's not a typo. Also, hopefully the Icelandic is easy to guess, if otherwise (and this applies to all languages) just ask me! His grammar is slightly wrong; I based it on the episode with the DNA test results.**

**The Google results used are real.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

With the protection barrier set up, we enter my study. Bookshelves line one of the walls and on the other wall, there is an assortment of miscellaneous objects such as important work (mind you, it was all finished) and little mementoes like a snowglobe Canada gave me for last Christmas, and a collection of coins from quite a range of centuries; all kinds of random things.

At the far side of the room is a desk, with a Windows 7 computer and a spinning chair. Romania jumps into the chair, causing it to glide slightly along the wooden floor. He then pushes himself away from the desk, towards me, a huge, childish grin on his face.

I facepalm. "This is a serious matter."

"Okay, fine," he replies and reluctantly returns to the computer, switching it on.

"Get out of my chair," I command levelly, "or else."

"Or else what?"

We really do act like children sometimes.

I make my eyes glow and he quickly evacuates the chair in fear. "Thank you," I say, sitting down in the chair.

"Not funny," he mutters irritatedly.

I log on, trying to ignore Romania's remarks about me hiding what I don't want the world to know about, then coughing forcedly.

"Yes, yes, I get the joke. Bloody hilarious."

The only sound in the room is the incessant tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, accompanied by the occasional mouse click.

"Black hair red eyes pointed ears" is the first phrase I type into Google.

"Angels - Sarius' Lyceum of the Ages" appears as the first result, so I follow the link, scrolling down to the most relevant section. I then read aloud from the page.

"Blood Angel - this is what happened when a female earthian lost purity or became dark. Black hair, red, gold, or black eyes, pointed ears, and black wings. They can create blood from energy then use it like ropes or whips."

I twist the chair around so that my eyes meet Romania's.

"Well, it's close. But you don't have wings."

"Touché," I shrug. Wait, why am I using French words now?

"Let me have a go," Romania says, leaning over my shoulder to get the mouse. He returns to the Google page.

"Anime...Disney fairies...role-plays...fanfictions..." he mutters. "As far as the eye can see," he confirms after a few seconds of scrolling.

I let out a sigh. "If it doesn't come up on Google, there's little chance anything of use will show up anywhere else," I conclude, reclaiming control over the mouse and moving the cursor closer to the red X.

"Might as well check my email while the browser's open, just in case," I think aloud.

"Just in case what happens?"

"I don't know, perhaps Norway killing us both?"

"So you're going to check your emails one last time?" he responds, confused.

"I was joking, you know. I'm sure the barrier we set up will be able to keep him out, even if he uses magic."

"What if he brings Rusia along as well? He's able to do some magic beyond curses, I assume?"

I shudder. "I don't even want to think about it," I answer, opening my emails.

_Inbox (3)_

"Three emails since last night," I say to Romania, even though he was looking over my shoulder.

_England, the other Norðurlönd and I have managed to calm bróðir down. We told him your appearance was all the big joke with Rúmenía pouring the ink in your hair, and that your red eyes were due to the lack of sleep. It seemed that he did not see your eyes clearly, because he was accepting the explanation._

_Don't think I am liking you just because of this message._

_Emil_

We both sigh in relief.

_Iggy, dude, what was UP with ur hair today? Lol, u looked TOTALLY ridiculous XD_

_AMERICA, FUCK YEAH!_

"I can't believe I raised him," I mutter.

_Gomennasai, Arthur-san. It appears that you weren't a monster, after all, which was silly of me to shout out. I couldn't help but notice that your eyes were red end your ears pointed as well. If that wasn't intentional, I suggest you contact your nearest exorcist._

_Kiku_

I close the window and lean back in the chair, hearing its annoying creaking sound.

"In summary," I comment, "Norway isn't after us, America's as bloody git-like as ever and Japan, possibly along with other people, noticed my eyes and ears."

"So what's the plan?"

I shrug. "No idea whatsoever."


	10. All Fun and Games

**The last few lines of the last chapter explain why I didn't post until now XD**

**I'm starting to get overloaded with homework and continuously demotivated for whatever reason, so the posts will probably stay at around one or two chapters a week. But then again, that's the speed most people update at, isn't it?**

**I got such little sleep on Saturday night because of a sleepover...we were up until about 3:30, and I wasn't interested in watching movies so I ended up beginning to write a couple of oneshots from my selection of ideas, but they're not that good because I can't write omorashi or smut well -_- (I was just experimenting with them, for the record!)**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

Time passes slowly, and not because I got super-speed again, it's because Romania and I have nothing to do.

He keeps making small talk, but it doesn't break the awkward atmosphere.

"We should probably take the protection barrier down. It's a waste of magic," he suggests.

"Well, it's better than sitting around doing nothing," I reply, and we return to my bedroom.

As we enter my room, I tell Romania that I'll be fine disabling the field by myself.

"Alright then," he replies as I reopen the book, flicking to the right page.

I take it in my left hand, with the other held out slightly away from my side, dramatically. It's just the way I do things.

The incantation required is similar to the one we used to set the barrier up in the first place, except for a few words.

I finish speaking, but I can't feel the barrier being lifted.

Is my magical power being inhibited now? I panic, wondering if this'd be permanent. Yet another random effect of this random curse?

I blame Germany.

Scanning the words again, I realise that I mispronounced one of them. Note to self: stop being paranoid.

I go through the spell again (without the dramatic position), ensuring that every word is correct this time, and to my relief, the magical protection disappears.

I look out of the window, seeing a subtle ripple passing by.

Suddenly, I feel cold metal being pressed onto my wrists. I look down, seeing the handcuffs from earlier, and back up to see Romania holding the key teasingly.

"What is the meaning of this?" I shout, and he bolts in terror.

Bloody hell, not again...

I follow him as he leads me on a wild chase around my entire house, my pleas to be released this instant going ignored.

It's not easy to run in handcuffs. I lose my balance and fall over, face almost slamming into the ground.

He turns around and sees me on the floor, beginning to back away slowly.

"Romania, this is NOT funny!" I say, flailing around in an attempt to get up to my feet.

"It's j-just a joke!" he replies.

"Hand the key over. Now," I command, and he complies. I unlock the handcuffs with some difficulty and toss them to one side.

"Really, why did you think that was a good idea?"

"I don't know," he replies, staring at the ground sheepishly.

"Don't go anywhere near any of my sex toys again. Ever."

He raises an eyebrow. "Toys?" he asks, putting emphasis on the 's'.

"Never mind," I respond, picking up the handcuffs and walking away from him, back into my room.

I suppose I should forgive him. After all, it was just a joke.

Shoving the handcuffs back under my bed, I wonder why he still finds me terrifying. I shrug it off and leave my room behind, finding Romania awkwardly standing outside the doorway.

"H-hey," he stammers. "Sorry about that, I thought it would be hilarious..."

"No worries," I reply. I pause until I can think of something to say, while he shoots a smile of gratitude - woah those fangs are awesome - at me.

"We don't get to see each other that often, do we? Why don't we hang out for a while?" I suggest. "They probably ended that meeting due to the host country's absence and the general disruption."

A worried look crosses my face.

"My boss is going to kill me."

He pauses, thinking something over in his mind.

"We'll give him the ink story and say that you had to go home to wash it out..."

"Firstly, that'll get you into trouble."

"My boss knows how mischievous I am, it's not that great a deal..."

"And secondly," I point to my hair for emphasis, "my hair's still going to be black!"

"What's up with that anyway? And your eyes as well," he queries.

"How the bloody hell would I know? I guess the things in my dream would know, but it's only around lunchtime now; I'm not tired in the slightest."

"I could send you to sleep with a spell?"

"That wouldn't end well. It's a risky spell, plus they wouldn't be ready until tonight if they're planning anything. Which they'd better be, because I need an explanation!"

"Hang on, it's around lunchtime?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. "In fact, it's about 2 PM, according to my alarm clock."

"Can we go out for lunch then?"

"Sure," I respond, smiling. "Sounds fun. But can't I cook up something for us at home?"

"With all due respect," he begins, before pausing for effect, looking at me.

The words "I'd rather survive" rush out of him, before he takes off down the corridor, laughing.

"What did you say about my cooking, you git?" I yell, enraged, beginning to chase him.

And yet, my rage dissipates at his laughter. At least he's not afraid of me anymore!

* * *

**I want England to have a bit of fun before everything gets depressing :)**

**A big thank you to SakuraMoriChan for all of the reviews, and also to those who favourited/followed this!**


	11. Drunken Sleepover

**My apologies for the update delay! I've had an English project, and Homestuck is so addictive...and awesome, may I add. I've been watching the dubbed version on YouTube and I'm currently an hour or so into act 4 :)**

**Also, I didn't plan this much, I just have a list of planned memories to incorporate in dreams and some of his waking time.**

**Sorry if you were enjoying all of the England and Romania scenes, because I wanted to cut this bit off. It wasn't really important to the plot, so just assume they had a fun day. This is set in the late evening.**

**Not sure about how easily Romania is scared, but I thought this'd be funny XD**

**...why is this bit so "coheriable" despite the fact that England's drunk? Anyway, the idea is that he forgets some of it through his inebriety, so some bits are skipped. Yeah, that's the truth...**

**Enjoy this filler~**

* * *

"And then, and then, that Kraut and his stupid *hic* companion were right by our camp!" I shout drunkenly.

"What did you say about Bruder!" shouts Prussia. He tagged along with us because he proclaimed that he was too awesome to do otherwise. Also, he's Romania's cousin and my drinking buddy, after all!

"Prusia, please," Romania says, stumbling under the weight of me, my arm draped across his shoulder. "He's had a lot to drink, and you know how easily he gets drunk."

"WHAT?" I retort. "I know - *hic* - I know how to hild my loquor - *hic*!"

He sighs. "Just don't do anything stupid. Well, dangerous anyway."

"I'm the bloody Bretish Impire...I think I'm able to keep my thoughts cohe - co - coheriable!"

"You invented the English language," Romania comments.

"I think coheriable is a perfectly awesome word!" Prussia adds.

"Prusia, get the camera," he says, grinning.

"Camera?" I hiccup. "Wh-why?"

"Anglia, do a dance for us, will you?" he requests, pointing the camera at me.

"Th-that is - *hoc* - rather improper!"

He smirks. "There's still some of sober Anglia in there."

"England!" Prussia calls out. "You of all people should know that it is impolite to refuse a request from one of your friends!"

"Yo-you're right," I reply.

* * *

Through my drunken haze, I notice that Romania and Prussia have brought me home and just left me on the sofa. I think we've silently agreed to have a sleepover, or maybe I suggested it and can't remember.

"Let's watch a movie!" Prussia suggests, flicking through my personal collection of movies.

"You know what kind of stuff he'll have in there," Romania says mischievously.

"I can still hear you, idiots!" I yell, my words slurring.

Prussia inserts a DVD and turns the telly on. He grabs the remote and shifts my feet so he can sit on the sofa.

The menu screen for Woman in Black appears.

"Bring it - *hic* - on," I say, smirking.

Prussia presses the play button. Romania remains on the floor, sitting stiffly.

* * *

"Ha!" Prussia proclaims, jumping up from the sofa. "That wasn't too much for the awesome me to handle!"

"Damn it...don't be so - *hic* - loud," I mutter.

"How about you, cousin?" he asks Romania.

"M-me? Oh, I'm f-fine," he stutters unconvincingly.

"Kesesesese! You were scared?"

"I can't help it! She didn't disintegrate in sunlight; of course she was scary!"

An idea comes into my head.

I stand up, stagger my way over to the next room, and sit in a rocking chair. I start leaning backwards and forwards, making it creak...

I hear Romania screaming from the other room and fleeing upstairs as Prussia enters the room I'm in. We share a fist bump before going up the stairs to find Romania, cowering, hiding underneath a blanket.

Prussia throws the blanket off, making Romania tremble before he notices it's not the Woman in Black.

"Stop it!" he cries. "You know horror movies without vampires scare me!"

"And also England's current state," Prussia adds, glancing to me.

"Whaaat? Is there - *hic* - something on my face?" I ask, leaning in towards him.

"Your hair is black and your eyes are red. Which is awesome."

"Why, thank y-," I reply, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness rush over me. Romania moves off of my bed, noticing my stupor.

I collapse into Prussia's arms as he prevents me from smashing my face on the foot of my bed. He slowly lowers me down, but not tucking me in, because that would just be awkward. Instead, he leaves me sprawled on top of the covers, with everything around me blurred.

Everything falls away and is replaced by...

Oh God...is that...a cave?


	12. Interrogating Ruhtra

**Guess who had Latin and Physics tests and will have Biology and Chemistry tests next Wednesday?**

**Sorry guys, I've had very little time to myself and I spent it sleeping, facebooking, eating, dancing to Homestuck music and trying to rap Gangnam Style :P**

**Finally, the weekend! This chapter took about two hours -_- and now it's almost 11 PM so I'd better post this and sleep already :P**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

"Here I am again," I mutter. "In this weird cave."

I kick a stone, wondering why I'd have a dream that's so lucid and vivid I'd almost mistake it for reality unless I should have a hangover at this point and I don't.

"Hello there, Arthur," a voice calls from behind me. It's raspy, but it also sounds slightly...angelic at the same time.

I spin around, catching sight of one of the things from before. The smaller one, which is about my height.

The sight that greets me is strange. The figure is clad in a long, dark green cloak, its face shrouded. But its eyes are visible - two small, golden orbs of light.

"Fascinating," I remark, mouth agape.

"What is it?"

"How is your face completely obscured despite the fact that your eyes are shining? Surely they would cast some light on your face?"

It blinks. Well, that's just an inference from the fact that the lights flickered.

"I'm a magical creature. There are no scientific explanations."

"I suppose."

Silence fills the cave. That thing's bad at this, clearly, whatever it's meant to be doing.

I'm fed up with calling it 'that thing'. It doesn't feel right; it feels like there should be a name for it. Or at least a third person personal pronoun...

"What's your name?" I ask it directly.

"My...name?" it responds, confused. "I guess you can call me Ruhtra."

I look at it incredulously. "Arthur backwards? Really imaginative. It doesn't sound bad though," I add.

"Why, thank you," Ruhtra responds.

Its gender-neutral voice isn't helping! Now that it...Ruhtra...has a name, I can't exactly call it 'it'! But I can't ask what its gender is directly, can I?

"As for your presence here," Ruthra begins.

Finally. Something pertaining to anything USEFUL.

"...you are to suffer for what you have done."

"What I have done?" I echo, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, what you have done."

"Allow me to rephrase that. What HAVE I done?"

"Nothing and everything. And that is why I am here."

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

"Let me explain. You have had many, many, bad memories," Ruhtra says, placing a hand over its heart (if it has one) and lowering its gaze in what I'd assume to be empathy. "They were almost physically painful to watch."

"Hang on a tick," I cut in. "You watched my memories? That's some powerful magic."

"The same sort of powerful magic that would alter your appearance and prevent you from changing it back. I must say, your attempts to hide it by human means were...cute."

"CUTE?!" I reply. "Do you have any idea how old I am?"

"Very. Anyway, it's also the same sort of powerful magic that has brought and will continue to bring you here, every night, as you sleep. Hopefully, when you leave, you'll have learned something."

"It's learnt, you git."

"Fine. Learnt."

"So what did you mean, that I haven't done anything but I've also done everything?"

"You've forgotten those memories. You can't remember every detail."

"That's because I tried to wipe them from my mind. Why would I want such burdens?"

"Ah, but if you lose your memories, then I can't exist. I survive off of memories and experiences. Nations, especially older ones such as yourself, are my kind's primary source of nutrition. If they have traumatising memories, that's even better, because their nutritional value is completely replenished every time the memory is recalled. Other memories generally become barren after a while."

"Ummm...okay," I reply. How am I meant to follow this? Memories aren't tangible things; they aren't simply eaten!

"Unfortunately, some of my kind have attempted to directly approach one of your fellow nations...for instance, my friend Navi..."

"So now everyone knows better than to go anywhere near Russia. I can sympathise," I comment, folding my arms over my chest.

"They...they learned-" I force a cough, "-learnt that...the hard way."

"Your friend...Russia killed your friend?"

"Uh huh," Ruhtra replies softly.

My eyes widen as Ruhtra looks down at the floor. There's no way...it's...crying?

Sure sounds like it.

"H-hey, Ruhtra," I stutter.

"Get away from me!" it snaps. "I don't want your help! I don't need your help! In fact, I should've got over this by now!"

"Ruhtra...it's okay. It's always tough to lose friends..."

What's coming over me? Isn't this creature supposed to be my enemy, the one that caused all of the trouble today concerning my appearance? I almost died!

And yet...it doesn't feel like this creature is to blame.

"I'm strong, you know. I'm very strong."

I can tell it barely believes its own words. It's reassuring itself, or at least trying to.

It falls to its knees, sobbing. I feel compelled to help, and kneel down beside it. My hand hovers over its form before settling on its back reassuringly.

"I'm here," I say, not knowing why I want to help Ruhtra.

"Arthur," it whispers. "Arthur, I need to tell you something."

"Wh-what is it?" I stutter.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

It shudders with tears. Its words sound tinged with guilt, as if it were disobeying a direct order.

"For everything that's about to happen."

My hand slides off of its back.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "What's about to happen?"

"A lot of things."

"For God's sake!" I snap. "Stop giving me all of these blasted conundrums!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

It continues this chant, barely audible over its own breathing. It speaks and speaks until these words pain its throat and its pronunciation falters. Every sentence transforms into an almost indecipherable 'un zorreh'.

"There's no need to apologise. You've done nothing."

"Not yet."

"Is...is this because of that other bloke?"

Ruhtra looks at me. "Other bloke?"

"The one who was talking to you previously. You know, when I fell asleep during the meeting and it was telling you off for giving me super-speed?"

"Because of that enjoyment, another night has been added to your punishment."

"Wait, wait - punishment?"

"I told you, you're forgetting those memories, and my kind cannot all feed off of one memory, especially when it's rarely supplied much more often than once a year. Your enjoyment from that super-speed had further effect on the nutritional value of your memories. My master wants you to remember all of those memories again, vividly, or the Englao clan may starve..."

"Englao? Does that mean there's a group of your kind who live off of me?"

"Yes. There are many more for each nation...for example, Ruso is among the largest clans."

"Okay, I think I'm beginning to wrap my mind around this situation. Your people live off of our bad memories in some way, and have grouped together to feed off of each nation. This can be done without directly approaching them, but some of you do anyway. And because I'm forgetting my bad memories, the Englao clan'll starve if I don't recall these memories in greater detail, and the best way to do that is to..."

I trail off, hesitant to come to my conclusion.

No. No. Surely not...?

I gulp.

"Do I have to relive my memories?"

Ruhtra doesn't reply, which is an answer in itself.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"I can't reiterate enough how sorry I am...it's all because of me..."

"Don't take the blame yourself. You don't look like someone, or something, who'd be guilty of anything like what you've just explained to me."

It stares at the ground. If it did have a face, or should I say, a visible face, it would definitely be expressionless.

"I...I..."

I wince at its voice, turning croaky out of so much emotion.

"Ruhtra. Have you forgotten that I used to own a quarter of the world?"

I smile. Hopefully that'll make Ruhtra feel a little better if I can't convince it of its innocence.

"I'll be fine. I'll take anything your 'master' can throw at me."

It doesn't reply.

"I don't hate you. I don't see why I would."

"Arthur...England...I need to tell you something..." it murmurs, "you have every reason to hate me."

"No. I don't."

It sighs and gets up.

"You'll realise soon enough."

It raises its palms, one resting on the other, in front of its face. A spherical object that appears to be clay appears in its hands. Those eyes...those beautiful, yet somewhat creepy eyes, glare at it. The ball turns the same colour as its eyes, radiating light.

"I'll understand completely if you don't forgive me."

The sphere is slammed into the ground, and a harsh gust of wind ripples through the caves. I cover my face with my arms, shielding myself from the blast.

I cautiously lower one arm as soon as the explosion lifts, but the cave is gone and so is Ruhtra. And all around me are more explosions. But not magical.

Bombs.


	13. The Blitz

**I'm sorry if this is confusing because England refers to his past self in the third person...**

**Nothing much to say, really, except that the reviews from the last chapter (yay three of them :D) elated and terrified me at the same time. Commitment, like German tourists, is scary!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I throw my hands to my ears and scrunch my eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the surroundings. Not this...this pyrrhic victory! This blasted war that split Europe apart, that tore a huge gash in all that is civil!

Every explosion is a bullet to my ears. The siren wails relentlessly and I scurry in panic and fear for my life towards the nearest shelter, which happens to be the London Underground. For some reason, its entrance is more vivid than everything else...in fact, all of the surrounding area, save for one small section, is faded. This section on the floor widens as it reaches the entrance, almost as if it were showing someone's vision.

My gaze, shaking as I run, follows this pyramid to its source. My jaw drops in shock.

It's me.

The past version of me is running towards the exact same location, but he's coughing every now and again, his skin pale, his steps faltering with weakness and exhaustion, from the economic difficulties, no doubt.

The sound of a crying girl rings out, almost inaudible with the wailing sirens. I turn to her, and slow down. Past me does the same.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and the pain in his - my - voice is obvious. "All of the children are meant to be out of London! Where are your parents?"

I stop in my tracks to witness the scene.

"I don't know," she chokes through tears. That innocent voice, I remember it now. It doesn't fit with the surroundings. It shouldn't. She wasn't meant to be in London, but her parents hadn't believed the war would be as brutal as it was. She'd told me the entire story later on.

"Don't worry," he says, now on one knee. "Come on."

She shakes her head, rooted to the spot in fear. I can imagine her thoughts - "these explosions everywhere, and now a stranger's asking me to come with him?"

He scoops her up and continues his dash to the station. I reach it before him, but there's nothing but blackness inside. Not just because of general darkness, because it's actually empty.

I slowly spin around in confusion, but then it becomes clear to me - there's nothing there because my past self hasn't seen this bit yet. God, is this mind-boggling.

I step to one side as my past self reaches the shelter, and then I follow the now-visible steps behind him until the station comes into view. Filled with people, and I doubt they're all waiting for a train. He sits down on the platform, legs extended, with the girl on his lap, as I choose to keep a safe distance and seat myself a few metres away with my legs hanging over the edge of the station, turned away from them.

The girl sobs.

"Hush, now," he croons. "You'll be fine. This'll all be over soon." He runs his hand through her hair.

The siren is now faint, but not silent. This station may be safe, but it doesn't block out the horror. People are strewn everywhere, their faces generally solemn, but some are openly displaying their fear.

"You're going to find your parents. In fact, we're going to find your parents."

I shake with the effort of holding my tears back. I was a fool to think that I would've found her parents safe and sound. We'd left the shelter an hour or so later, and...

"You're safe."

She guided me back to her street. "It's this way, mister!" she'd said, in that adorable voice tainted by the horrors her young eyes should have never seen.

"I'll help you."

We'd reached it, and there were few houses left.

"I'll protect you."

I twist my upper body around, seeing those beautiful eyes stung with tears, her face stiffened and determined to be strong, as fingers run through her hair.

He looks up, in my direction, but he looks straight through me, as if I'm a ghost.

His face is creased with worry and sadness, trying to keep up a façade for this girl, that he's perfectly fine and coping with it. The British Empire could withstand such events, as I had done for several centuries. But that doesn't mean I've ever been able to sit through a war without being severely affected, especially one such as this - with such technology, such destruction, to the extent that I'd never seen anything on a huger scale in my lifetime.

Yet another explosion can be heard, and he flinches as if punched. I shudder. Every bomb, I recall, directly harmed me.

"Are you okay, mister?" the girl asks.

"Y-yes," he responds, hesitantly.

Shaky tones of people singing can be heard echoing throughout the station. Their voices resolved to keeping up their morale, or to hide their lack of it. I turn back towards the tracks.

The proceeding minutes seem to drag on for hours. I slump forwards, my forearms loosely resting on each leg.

"Ruhtra," I whisper, tears streaking down my face as well as my past self's, as the girl comforts him. Who's going to comfort me? The present me?

Another explosion outside, another muffled scream. At least one more of my people just lost their life to this stupid, stupid war! We didn't have to declare war on Germany just because he went and attacked Poland, and more importantly, I should've looked ahead to see all the damage it'd cause. But I'd only thought of the present back then, and I'd had a positive outlook on war, just like many of the cheering soldiers. Many never cheered again.

"Ruhtra, can you hear me? Make it stop, please..." I bury my face in my hands. It's not going to make any difference, is it?

And this is going to happen for how many more nights?

My vision blurs, and so does the passing time. Before I know it, people are beginning to surface. The area around me becomes more faded: presumably my past self's moving away. I swing myself around to follow him, not wanting to risk whatever happens if I slip out of a certain range.

We exit the station, him holding hands with the girl, and our breath hitches simultaneously.

Those proud buildings - from an hour ago for him and decades for me - are nothing more than rubble. He holds his arm over the girl's eyes, whisking her past a freshly-killed corpse. Its lifeless eyes are widened in shock, its mouth open and tongue lolling. I wince at the bloodied lump that was once a hand, ripped apart by shrapnel.

Trying to ignore this image, plastered in my mind for the second time (its body is still as crisp as it was when my past self was looking at it, probably because it'd had such an effect on me), I continue to follow past me.

She guides him back to her street. "It's this way, mister!" she says, in that adorable voice tainted by the horrors her young eyes should have never seen.

I turn to run away, but my boundary is too close to risk it.

We reach it, and there are few houses left.

I hear him gulp. Of course, it's very unlikely, considering the number of houses left, that her parents survived. Maybe, just maybe, they'd reached their shelter in time?

But he doesn't know the answer to that question. I do.

She runs, distraught, along the road, with myself and I on her tail. Then she stops, staring into ruins.

My past self digs furiously. I know that it's hopeless; I want to cry out for him to stop, but I know he wouldn't hear me.

Then there's that sight again. He pulls away one brick, and what was once hidden there is now glaringly obvious.

A human hand.

"Mummy?" she cries out, edging closer to what was once her home.

Another human hand clasping it.

"Daddy?"

No child should ever have to see the corpses of their own parents. Not at this age. She bursts into tears.

He pulls her into a reassuring hug, but I can see how much he's been hurt by the sight as well.

"You said we'd f-find them..." she whispers.

My past self doesn't respond. How could I have responded to that? I...I had said we'd find them, and we did, just...too late.

This scene, again...all over again...

"Why did this have to happen?" I whisper to the sky. "Why?"


	14. Morning After

**Ugh, those Biology and Chemistry tests shouldn't have been one after the other -_- **

**I'm ready to fall asleep XD but it's only half past five (edit: now it's almost 8 and I have Physics homework to do)...meh. I'll write you a chapter first :)**

**ARGH. WE NEED A THIRD PERSON PERSONAL PRONOUN IN ENGLISH ALREADY. It's annoying :/**

**The name is from an online fantasy name generator called Serendipity, which is amazing. My mum suggested Fiona for the name, but then I remembered my saved name list ;) one of which was Fialina. I also had Emmakala there, so that's likely to appear too.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

The alarm clock beeps incessantly, forcing me awake.

"This is such an unawesome time to wake up," Prussia groans, propping himself up on one elbow on the floor.

"I concur," adds Romania.

"Unnhh...shut uuuuuup..." I moan, clutching my head as a hangover grips me.

"Did you just tell the awesome me to shut up?" Prussia demands, shuffling until he's sitting upright inside his sleeping bag (he and Romania must've got those after I'd fallen asleep).

"N-no, I meant that bloody alarm..." I fumble for the button lethargically, missing every time.

Romania gets up and whacks the button, narrowly missing my hand.

"Ow...my head...ow...ow..."

He rolls his eyes at me, leaving me alone with Prussia in the room. I look at him incredulously.

"Wha- what's happening with you? Didn't you drink a lot as well?"

His clothes are almost as dishevelled as mine. Those geniuses didn't bring pyjamas with them. Well, maybe they left them at whichever hotel they stayed in for the conference.

"Me? Nein," he replies, flicking his wrist downwards as he speaks, "Rumänien stopped me from drinking as much as you did. Just so I'd have enough co-ordination to record a little something."

My eyes widen in horror. "Whatever it was, delete it."

Prussia picks up his iPhone, pressing the screen a few times to find said video, before holding it up to my face.

"Fraaaance," my drunk self slurs in the video, stumbling, "y'know, I...I looove you...I freakin' love ya..."

My hand shoots out to steal the iPhone from his hands, but he yanks it away just in time.

"Kesesesese...maybe I should send this to him..."

"No, don't!" I cry out, throwing the covers off. I dive onto the floor in front of him, trying to get the phone back, but he holds it out of my reach.

Prussia laughs loudly, causing my head to throb. I clasp my hands to it, and he quickly takes my lack of opposition as a chance to send the video. I think. Then he confirms it by showing me the screen.

"Git," I grumble, as Romania returns with some water in his hand. He offers it to me, and I gladly drink it. Bloody alcohol. I'm never drinking again. Ever. I mean it.

"So...why did you have an alarm set to this time anyway?" Romania asks, sitting down beside me. Then he hesitates, considering something. "You called me at about this time yesterday, didn't you?"

"I dunno what's happening," I slur sleepily, now that the panic from earlier is over. Prussia's already sent it, what's the point? "I never set my alarm to that time. It went off yesterday at 5:12 for some reason, but I sort of forgot about it. You know a lot else happened."

Prussia sits at the side, messing with his iPhone and paying no mind to our conversation; probably updating his Facebook status to say that he's having a sleepover here and that he made it awesome.

"I think it was one of the fairies," I continue.

"No," Romania cuts in, suddenly acting serious, "it's too much of a coincidence. That wouldn't have happened at the exact same time as all of this started."

"A coincidence is possible, they're always possible," I retort, sipping the water, "Ruhtra seemed to only exist in the dream world, so I guess that it - or he or she - would be able to affect my appearance, but not necessarily my surroundings..."

"Ruhtra?"

"Long story," I mumble. "Heh, maybe I should've asked what happened to my looks, that would've been a good idea," I wonder aloud.

The dream's events return to me.

_We'll find your parents._

Such meaningless, empty words.

_Nothing more than rubble._

The destruction of so many things that meant so much to me...

_A human hand. Another human hand clasping it._

The death of so many people...

"Anglia...ANGLIA!" Romania calls, bringing me back to reality. He looks at me with concern. I must've been staring off into space. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I reply.

So real...it was more than a dream. It was a memory. A memory that'll haunt me for the rest of my life.

"Hey, England, what's up?" Prussia asks, his attention torn from his screen. He slings his arm around my shoulder, leaning into my face. "You can tell the awesome me~"

"I said, I'm perfectly fine!" I snap, sliding out of his loose, unwelcome, over-friendly grip. I stand up and storm out of the room, not wanting to face Romania's interrogations and Prussia's...well, Prussia in general. Especially with this bloody hangover.

I stagger downstairs to the kitchen, with the mug Romania's given me still in my hand. I refill it and gulp the water down greedily, anything to make this stupid headache go away.

You know what, England, you're pathetic. Letting Ruhtra take advantage of you and make you depressed over an event from so long ago?

Not now, brain, I scold myself. Well, maybe it's true...but what was I meant to do, faced with something like that all over again...

I recall the fresh memory, spluttering around the glass as sadness clutches me again.

"F...fuck..." I mutter, sliding down to the ground, sobbing pathetically.

"Arthur?" whispers a small, feminine voice. I look up, catching sight of Fialina, one of my fairy friends.

"Leave me alone," I mutter.

She flutters closer, cautiously. "Are you alright, Arthur? You...are you crying?" She gasps, drifting ever closer.

"I asked you to leave me ALONE!" I snap. "I don't want to talk to anyone, okay?"

I feel my eyes flare up, and she flies off in fear.

"Damn this short temper," I seethe. "Fialina! Fialina, I'm sorry!" I call out, but she's already gone, afraid and probably offended.

"Fialina!"

I run upstairs to hers and everyone else's bedroom, throwing the door open so it slams against the wall. I wince. I didn't intend to do that, and the loud noise means that the pain in my head has increased again. Looking around, I notice Mint's startled eyes looking at me.

"Pardon my intrusion, but have you seen Fialina anywhere?"

Mint timidly points over to the drawers nearby (I built small bedrooms in there a while ago for the fairies because it was just easier than using magic) and cowers in the corner.

"Mint? Oh no, please don't be afraid of me too..." I walk over to Mint, who flinches as I approach.

"She...she doesn't want to see you! You're scary!"

"Don't..." I start, edging closer, but Mint flies away. "Please, I don't mean anyone any harm! Is it my eyes? I didn't mean to scare anyone! Don't...don't leave me..." I cry futilely, "I don't want to be alone, not now..."

I drop to the floor. First salt on that old wound, and now this...

I become aware of a drawer opening slowly, and Fialina is soon by my side.

"Arthur, it's fine. I'll help. We'll all help."

She holds on to my finger, smiling up at me reassuringly.

I smile back, but it's fake. All I could think of were the words I'd said decades ago...

_You'll be fine. This'll all be over soon. I'll help you. I'll protect you._


	15. Closed and Open Doors

**Sorry for the delay, guys...you know how it is - homework, afterschool activities, upcoming tests...I mean, I forgot about one of my ancient Greek vocab tests until the night before it! I still got the best mark in the class though, somehow. Verb tests are annoying with all the confusing tenses and almost every one being irregular -_- I should ask Heracles about this.**

**I did say Emmakala would appear. Also, sorry for the lack of description concerning Fialina's appearance in the last chapter, I've added some in now ^_^**

**My peer assessor for some English creative writing homework said I need more sensory description. I'm working on it :)**

**Anyways, enjoy more delicious filler~! (because I'm growing to like my fairy OCs :D)**

* * *

"I could've stopped that war, I know I could've done! Then that little girl would've had a happy life, everyone would've had the joyful lives they deserved! I am such a pathetic country; I can't even keep my own people safe, I prevent them from living their lives properly as is their right, I..."

I stop, my sharp inhalations making it impossible to speak. I've long since run out of tears.

"I can't...I can't do anything right," I sob, hugging my knees into my chest.

"Arthur, that war was a long time ago," Fialina says. "You fought because you had to. May I mention that you won it as well?"

"Not unscathed," I whisper.

She sighs, probably because of exasperation.

"I'm sorry...just, don't bother comforting me. I'll be fine." I give her a weak smile, and she nods, albeit hesitantly. She's never liked arguing.

Wiping the tears away from my face, I stand up - ow, my head. Perhaps leaving the house would distract me.

"Hey, Fialina," I mutter, and she looks up at me. "Fancy going to the bakery? Just for a treat," I add.

She tilts her head. "Are you sure about that? You've been wearing those clothes since yesterday morning. Also, Halloween was over a month ago."

"Well, of course I'm going to get changed. As for this," I point to my eyes, "I was fine yesterday, so why wouldn't I be today?" I respond, shrugging.

Narrowing her eyes, she brings herself up to my eye level. "You were drunk yesterday."

"My head reminds me about that enough times without your contribution," I retort.

She facepalms. "Okay then, the bakery it is. But you'd better have some water first or you'll never stop complaining. I know what you're like when you're hungover."

I roll my eyes and reply curtly, before leaving to get a drink of water.

* * *

With the now-empty glass on the table beside me, I check the weather forecast on my phone.

"28 degrees?" I mutter in disbelief. "It's winter, what bloody sense does that ma- oh."

Turns out it's set to Fahrenheit. Dammit, America can never stay away from my phone...

I roll my eyes and set it back to Celsius. -2 degrees. Well, it wasn't that cold yesterday, but then again, temperature drops are pretty normal.

Deciding that it's cold enough, I locate my grey winter coat, hanging by the door, and put it on over my clothes - a black woollen sweater with dark green smart-casual trousers.

I button it from the base of my neck down to my knees.

"...and then I saw through a crack in the door that Anglia was crying!"

I go into suspended animation upon hearing this muffled voice. I forgot that Romania and Prussia are here...

Creeping to the door, I hear Prussia's voice.

"Yeah, I saw him too. What an unawesome loser, am I right?"

They saw me? Great, I'll never live this down.

"Prusia!" Romania snaps, shocked. "That was mean! What if he's going through an emotional ordeal?"

My breath hitches. I don't want anyone on my case; he'll never stop reminding me of any dreams to come!

"Kesese, he was talking to himself. It was funny to watch."

"HE WAS TALKING TO FIALINA!"

My ear is pressed to the door in a proper spy-like fashion, but I can't hear anything.

"Who?" Prussia asks after that pause.

"One of his friends...?" Romania replies in a you-should-know-this-already type of voice.

"You mean one of his delusions?" he chuckles.

"They're real, idiot!"

"Riiiiiiiight."

"How many times do I need to tell you?"

"Yeah, I completely and totally believe you," Prussia replies sarcastically.

"Arthur?" Fialina asks. "Are we leaving?"

I press one finger to my lips to shush her, then resume listening to Romania and Prussia's conversation. I probably should've taken my coat off beforehand; I'm boiling. I can't do so now, lest they hear me.

"What happened to it being improper to listen to others' conversations?"

"Fialina, I told you to be quiet!" I hiss.

"That wasn't me," she replies.

"Then who was it?" I turn around and see Emmakala. Today, she's wearing a fluorescent yellow t-shirt with a skull on the front, a short, pleated skirt that's the same mediated shade of purple as her hair and, and light grey leggings.

Fialina, in contrast, is wearing a light green t-shirt and a knee-length pink skirt. Her ginger hair is hanging loosely, to just beyond her shoulders.

"Morning, Emma," I address her.

"My name is Emmakala," she replies curtly.

I brush off her moodiness. "So, what brings you out of your room for once?"

Emmakala is generally a solitary person...fairy, and spends her time reading and writing poetry. She rarely lets me read her poems, though.

"Um, well, I couldn't help but overhear that you're going to the bakery," she mutters, staring at the ground intently, "and I was wondering if I could come along."

Fialina giggles. "Just because Auvien's there~"

"Shut up!" she snaps, flustered.

Auvien is the only fairy staff member at the local bakery...well, in the private room for all fairies and those with the Sight, such as myself. It's pretty convenient, so I can talk to my friends without other people calling me insane. Anyway, he's a decent guy, and Emmakala's too embarrassed to admit that she loves him (even though it's obvious to anyone checking the signs).

"You love him~!" Fialina teases.

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"No way!"

As they're bickering, I notice that there's no sound coming out of the other side of the door. Good, that's out of the way for a while.

Emmakala suddenly cuts off their argument. "Are we going already?"

"Come on then, let's go," I reply, walking towards the front door.

As I open it, a blast of cold air greets me, then seems to subside as I adjust to it. The three of us set off together to the bakery.


	16. Conversations at the Bakery

**I've been reading Stolen Away by Alyxandra Harvey recently. I slowly got pulled into it because I love things with a supernatural twist, especially fairies. AND IT'S GOT A LOT OF FAIRIES! Seriously, it's an awesome book thus far. Because of that inspiration, expect more fairies and stuff :D (and some more propriety).**

gesprec . aelfena . net is a sort of fairy networking site I made up. It's Old English for "talk [noun] of the fairies". The word 'aelfena' is in the genitive plural because I could be bothered :P

I don't own any Nintendo games, or Hetalia for that matter (but considering this is **fan****fiction . net, that's somewhat evident).**

**Tell me if I don't have to use spaces in non-existent domain names; I'm doing it just in case :3**

I'M RAMBLIIIING AGAIN. Anyways, enjoy~

* * *

Mist swirls out of my mouth with each breath as I walk down the high street towards the bakery. Fialina and Emmakala tag along behind me, having a conversation with each other that I choose to stay out of.

I generally refrain from talking to any fairies in public due to so many people being non-believers. It's sort of the same thing that happened with the guys at Japan's house before they had to leave.

Most of the Fae stay in forests nowadays or in the houses of those with the Sight, but they never forget their roots and often return to nature. Fialina goes to the woods from time to time and Emmakala just leaves randomly without telling anyone; some of my friends leave for even longer or, in a couple of cases, forever.

Gwimiri, for example, still has a room in my house, but since she met (and fell in love with) a forest-dwelling fairy named Dricien a while ago she's rarely visited. She does keep in touch via gesprec . aelfena . net, so at least we know she's okay.

My first indication that we're approaching the bakery is the wonderful smell of its goods, warm and welcoming.

A smile spreads across my face, partially hidden under my scarf. I love this bakery; not only is the food delicious, they serve many flavours of tea as well. All kinds of blends - orange, cinnamon, rosemary...

Maybe that makes it a café, but then again, the tea is just an addition.

I cross the road towards the bakery, looking in the window as I come closer. There aren't many people inside, as it's somewhat cold and they'd rather stay at home.

Jolene, one of the workers at the shop, and I catch sight of each other simultaneously. She stops cleaning one of the tables to give me an enthusiastic wave, which I return with a more subtle one.

As I open the door, the familiar bell tingles to alert everyone to a new presence.

"Arthur! It's so nice to see you!" Jolene exclaims, skipping over to me, her golden, wavy hair bouncing with her.

"It's nice to see you too, my dear," I reply, taking her delicate hand in my own and kissing it. She enjoys this level of propriety.

She giggles. "Is it still Halloween?"

I wonder what she's talking about momentarily before mentally slapping my forehead. Why do I keep forgetting about this absurdity? My heart races as I try to conjure up a suitable explanation.

"Uhh, Fialina did this while I was asleep and Emmakala stole my spell book which would reverse it...?"

I pause, expecting her not to accept my excuse. She just laughs, muttering something about how mischievous Fae can get.

"Shall I take your coat, sir?" she offers.

"That would be very kind of you," I reply, unbuttoning and shrugging off my coat. She accepts it, still beaming, and hangs it on the coat rack. Her dark brown skirt, which forms her work clothes along with a beige blouse, moves fluidly as she turns back to me.

"So, same table as usual?"

"Yes, please."

She leads me into the small room at the side, which has a smaller, fairy-sized version of the main bakery. There are a couple of tiny circular tables with four chairs each, and one larger square table, with a normally sized chair and four smaller ones with long enough legs for them to reach the table. The latter is where we tend to sit at this bakery; we're frequent customers.

Fialina, Emmakala and I all sit at the table, as Jolene pulls a notepad and pen out of her pocket.

"What are you in the mood for today?" she asks me, clicking the pen. She poises it above the notepad.

I ponder for a moment. "Rosemary tea and one scone, please," I request, and she scribbles my order down.

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute!" she responds, leaving the room.

"You had to put the blame on me, didn't you?" Fialina mutters, eyeing me with mock fury.

"I had to think of an excuse on the spot!" I respond in my defence.

Just then, Auvien comes over. Emmakala's wings flutter slightly.

His outfit is similar to Jolene's, except obviously more masculine. He has a beige shirt and dark brown trousers.

"Well, how can I help you today, ladies?" he addresses the fairies.

Emmakala's face flushes, and I can't help but smile. Fialina orders tea with a spot of honey for herself, and Auvien writes down her request before turning to Emmakala.

"How about you?" he asks, and I'm sure that Emmakala would've melted in response if he used a pet name.

"Uhm, can I just have milk, please?" she asks timidly. Like all Fae, she is fond of milk, maybe even more so than others.

"Duly noted," he replies, flying off to fulfil their orders.

Fialina snickers at Emmakala's reddened cheeks.

"You really are precious," she giggles, as the other stares at the table intently.

"Ugh, just stop it already," Emmakala complains, squirming in embarrassment.

"Why don't you just admit it already?" Fialina teases.

"I concur," I add. "After all..." Jolene re-enters with my tea and scone, and I interrupt my flow of speech to thank her. "You'd make a good couple," I finish.

She blushes more furiously, keeping her gaze averted away from the bar where Auvien is working.

I take a sip of my tea. Delicious, as usual.

Emmakala fails at pretending to barely notice Auvien returning to the table with their drinks. He places each mug in front of them.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asks.

"Of course," I reply, chuckling lightly at the fact that Fialina's taken the seat at the end, so Auvien has to sit next to Emmakala. I doubt that was coincidental.

The latter stares down at the table again, probably hoping this moment would and wouldn't end all in one.

"Well then...how's life with everyone?" he asks joyfully, and Fialina shoots me a half-panicked glance, not wanting to have to lie or worry Auvien.

His awkward smile fades while we remain silent.

"Fine, thanks," Emmakala mutters.

Auvien looks at me with concern. "Are you alright, Arthur?"

"Hm? It's nothing," I reply, but he doesn't seem convinced. "Fialina was helping me earlier. Trust me, I'm fine."

"You're not one to be reliant on others," he comments, "there must be something wrong."

"For goodness' sake, stop being so intrusive!" I snap.

"Arthur."

"What?" I hiss. Can't we just leave this topic alone?

"It's curious how you were unable to reverse a spell just because you didn't have a spell book." He leans back in the chair, arms folded as he unravels my lies. "Jolene may not fully understand when magic can and can't work, but I sure do. So tell me, what's really going on?"

"Just bad dreams," I mutter. "Nothing more." I drink some more of the tea to signal my wish to avoid the conversation. Auvien: pretty decent guy, yet rather intrusive.

He takes the hint and changes the topic. "You won't believe how weird our customers can be sometimes! I mean, just yesterday..."

I almost zone out, having no interest in the weirdness of random people, but that'd be impolite.

"...this guy came in wearing a dark green cloak. The strangest thing was, his face wasn't visible at all! No, wait, there was something stranger than that, he had..."

"Yellow eyes which were visible despite the rest of the face being in shadow?" I cut in.

"Yes, like th- wait, what?"

"That's Ruhtra. I'm not sure of its, or should I say, their, gender yet. But they're the source of my nightmare in some weird way. Come to think of it, Ruhtra was either forced into that job or is a legend at theatrics," I reply nonchalantly, finishing the rest of my tea.

He stares at me, stunned.

"Tell me, what was Ruhtra doing here?"

Auvien clears his throat. "Well, he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. Just coming in, looking around, asking some of our customers questions and leaving. In retrospect, I guess his body language and voice suggested...franticness."

I nod. "That'd make sense. So, was it obvious from Ruhtra's voice that they were male or is that just an assumption?"

"It's easier. I don't remember exactly what he was saying, though."

Fialina looks between the two of us silently, listening to our conversation. Emmakala does the same thing, except she allows her gaze to linger for much longer on Auvien.

"You know what, I might take the same approach," I add, before pausing to think.

My mind drifts away from the conversation and toward Fialina. She might have sounded cheerful but I think there's an underlying tone.

I make a mental note to investigate this later, and return to thinking about the topic on hand.

"Ruhtra can leave the dream world? What would he be looking for?" I think aloud.

"You?" Auvien suggests.

"That's a possibility," I agree, placing a hand to my chin in thought. "But why was he outside of the dream world?"

"How am I supposed to know?" he replies, laughing.

A couple of fairies enter the room.

"Sorry, gotta go!" he calls out, flying away from the table. He approaches the two girls and they start making small talk as he leads them to a table.

From a distance, it's difficult to tell exactly what they're saying anymore. Emmakala eyes the two girls with jealousy.

Was Ruhtra looking for me by any chance? Why would he need to?

I frown, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, and decide to eat my scone to fuel my detective prowess.

"That was very close," Fialina whispers once Auvien's out of earshot.

"Indeed."

"What's the big deal about it? If they're just nightmares, why all the secrecy? I'm still out of the loop here," Emmakala adds, grumpily. It's the most I've heard out of her this week.

"A true gentleman never showcases his weaknesses," I reply thoughtfully.

She rolls her eyes and slams a small fist on the table, not making as much of a bang as she intended. "Stop making Professor Layton references!"

"Alright, alright," I respond, chuckling lightly. "As for not mentioning the matter, I'm sorry, I forgot about you."

"You always do," she mutters sadly.

"I didn't mean it like that!" I hastily add, leaning forward with a similar haste. Great job, Arthur. "It's just because I didn't really want to mention it..." I lean back against the chair again.

Sighing, I whisper, "Here goes."

I proceed to explain the entire dream to her.


	17. Emmakala?

**Almost at 3,000 views :D**

**Yay, Christmas holidays! You might end up getting a lot of updates :)**

**This may be starting to get a bit complex O_o but otherwise, there would be nothing for them to do by day, so yeah...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"...and that's it," I mutter, shaky with dry tears. It's still a painful memory.

Emmakala lets out a long breath. "Hm."

I can't exactly register her emotions from her face. Pity? Boredom?

"So there isn't much reason for this 'Ruhtra' to change your appearance... what about the other one?"

"Other one?" I echo. "Oh yeah, his boss. I suppose there wasn't much reason for either of them to do that."

She rests an elbow on the table, taking a thoughtful sip of milk.

"Take your elbows off of the table," I scold.

Sighing frustratedly, she complies. "Ugh, okay then."

Fialina pushes her now-empty mug aside. "I'm just wondering something. If Ruhtra raised his arms to make that clay orb thing, you would've seen his hands, right? What colour were they?"

I think back to that point of my dream, but I can't seem to remember at all; I mention this to Fialina.

Emmakala rests her face on her hand, her elbow on the table once more, stirring her milk with the straw in her other hand. I give up on trying to teach her good table manners.

"I think you shouldn't trust Ruhtra," Emmakala comments, "no matter how pitiful he degrades himself to be."

"That's mean! What if he's telling the truth?" Fialina argues.

"Feeding off of memories? I mean, pfft. How can anyone be less convincing?"

Fialina hesitates. "I guess you have a point."

"But that raises another question. If we say that the 'eating memories' story was a lie, what's his motive?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Maybe you angered him somehow?"

We continue exchanging theories for a while, but we barely get anywhere with figuring out the situation.

"I suppose I'll have to wait until tonight to ask Ruhtra all of this," I sigh.

"Yeah, that sounds like a g- wait, where's Emmakala?"

I bolt upright in shock. Not that my posture had slipped or anything. Checking to Fialina's left, I notice that Emmakala is indeed gone.

"She's probably gone to flirt with Auvien," I mutter.

But she was sitting opposite me! How could I have not noticed her leaving? Perhaps I was too focused on the conversation...

"Arthur?" asks a slightly tired voice. I turn around. "It's almost five o'clock; we need to close the bakery," Jolene states.

"Oh, of course." Goodness, Fialina and I talked for a while.

Scanning the room, I see Auvien in the miniaturised bakery, humming to himself - Greensleeves, of all songs. He should know where Emmakala is, right?

"Hey, Auvien," says Fialina, who beat me to it, "have you seen Emmakala recently?"

Auvien turns around. "I thought she was..." His voice trails off. "...with you?"

"She's probably gone home without us," Fialina mutters. She turns to me. "You know how she is."

I fold my arms. "She wouldn't turn down an opportunity to spend time near Auvien."

"Maybe she didn't want to see him serving those girls, though?"

"Hey, it's my job," Auvien cuts in.

"I'm not sure about this," I continue. "I wouldn't like to find out that anything has happened to her."

"You should stop being so pessimistic," he adds. "She'll turn up sooner or later, but anyway, we'd better close the bakery now."

"Alright. Goodbye, then." We exchange farewells and Fialina and I return home.

* * *

At the front door, I pull my house keys out of my pocket. Inserting the right key in the lock, I remember something.

Prussia and Romania are still in my house.

"Oh bloody hell," I whisper under my breath, turning the key. I nudge the door open with my foot and peek inside, expecting to see the remnants of a pranking rampage.

But there's nothing different, and that's hardly reassuring.

"Romania?" I call out, removing my shoes and coat. "Prussia?"

Seriously. First Emmakala, now them...

I hear some muffled voices from inside the living room, and open the door cautiously, half expecting to see Ruhtra holding them captive.

But all I see is Romania petting Mint, and Prussia sitting on the sofa beside him, shaking his head. God, I need to stop being so paranoid!

"Hi, Anglia," Romania says as I step into the room. I almost blurt out how glad I am to see that they're safe; that'd just be strange, though.

"Hey. Sorry for my random departure," I reply. "You know, I was really expecting to come home to find a completely messy house."

Prussia groans. "That would've been awesome!" He turns to Romania. "Why didn't you suggest it?!"

Romania shrugs, letting Mint fly away. "It would've been kind of mean."

"Ugh, you spoilsport..."

My sense of relief slowly fades away as it is replaced by worry for Emmakala.

"What's wrong?" Romania asks me.

"Emmakala's gone," I mutter. "I should probably check if she's in her room."

"I doubt she'd be missing," he responds, "but check anyway."

I nod. "Will do," I say curtly, and with that, I head upstairs. Fialina, who's been silent just now, flutters behind me.

The bedroom door is open just a crack, and creaks as I push it. I freeze in place, listening for movement.

Save for Prussia and Romania talking about whatever downstairs, it's eerily silent. My footfalls sound much louder than usual due to the lack of noise.

"Emmakala?"

No response.

I continue walking towards the drawers, albeit hesitantly. There's a chance I won't like what I see. I slide the drawer open.

There's nobody there.


	18. Entranced Poetry

**FASTEST UPDATE IN THE HISTORY OF ME!**

**The poems used here are both mine; the first is one I wrote about one of my most awesome friends, the piano and art legend. I'm jealous of his skill but I just don't have the patience or mental capability of anything musical :/ doesn't stop me from singing when nobody's around!**

**I just added tildes and o's between the stanzas to separate them because otherwise, they're unclear (argh it killed anything without letters each time). And structure is important!**

**Hehe, the Romanian for 'yes' is the same as it is in Russian. Now I keep imagining vampire vodka.**

**"Kanaya, you're rambling again." (okay, fine, I won't confuse you with Homestuck on a Hetalia fic)**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

"No way," I whisper. I know what Emmakala's like, and if she's going to leave the house, she wouldn't leave without telling us.

Especially not without her poetry book.

Fialina glides into the drawer and checks under Emmakala's bed. She pulls out a light grey notebook, patterned with a lemon and lilac flower design. Fialina and I made it for her as a birthday present.

She flies over to me, opening the book and holding it so we both can see. Maybe it'll make the reason for her leaving obvious.

I squint at the small handwriting. "I can't read that," I state. "Can you read it aloud to me?"

"Sure," she replies.

* * *

_His face steels, softly,_

_Without a furrow,_

_Without a concern,_

_Placing dextrous hands on the keys__._

_~o~o~_

_They glide hypnotically,_

_The notes speaking to me_

_In comforting nothings_

_Beautiful in their indecipherability._

___~o~o~_

_Faltering confusedly,_

_Fingers stumbling over notes._

___~o~o~_

_Pieces once known,_

_Now forgotten;_

_Lost in the void of_

___~o~o~_

_The back of_

_His mind._

___~o~o~_

_And yet, experimentally,_

_The music continues_

_No longer under a façade_

_Of perfection -_

___~o~o~_

_An assurance of reality._

_I think I'll let the minutes pass._

* * *

I chuckle despite the situation on hand. "I didn't know Auvien was that mesmerising a pianist!"

"Oh, he is. After all, he is Fae."

"You have a point, I guess. What about the poem next to that?" I point to the writing on the opposite page.

* * *

_Roaming, roaming in the_

_Unknown._

_Home. Where is mine?_

_Tell me, tell me._

_Roaming, roaming. Elsewhere._

_Alone._

___~o~o~_

_Help me, help me._

_Anybody. Somebody._

_Save me, save me._

___~o~o~_

_Make me free from_

_Emotions._

* * *

Fialina studies the page carefully.

"It looks...rushed," she comments. We make eye contact. "Emmakala never rushes poetry."

"Let me have a look at this," I request, gently taking the book.

I carry it into my study and place it on the desk, as meticulous as ever.

"Sometimes it's easier to pick things out by sight rather than hearing," I explain, pulling a magnifying glass out of the desk's drawer.

Fialina closes the drawer as I sit down, magnifying glass in place to read the poem.

"Help me, help me. Anybody. Somebody. Save me, save me," I repeat over and over in hushed tones. "She wouldn't have written a poem instead of a simple 'HELP' scrawled on a page; she wasn't in imminent danger at the time. Did you see her writing this?"

"Hmm...well, I went to talk to her last night in her room, and she was writing in that book," she nods towards the book, "on the right-hand side, I think."

She flicks back to the previous page. "Aha. She showed me these a couple of days ago, so she must've been writing," she returns to the poem in concern, "this when I was talking to her."

"Anything to report?" I ask.

"Come to think of it, she seemed... subdued, and somewhat entranced. I just dismissed it at the time, because I thought she was writing a poem about Auvien."

"Ah, I see," I reply. "So she wrote this hurriedly last night, as if in a trance. Maybe the poem's contents hold some clues."

I inspect the poem more carefully. It doesn't make too much sense, and isn't as good quality as the rest of her poems. Perhaps that's because she rushed it?

Then I notice something. She doesn't tend to isolate so many words in her poems...maybe some words are on random lines for a reason? I can't quite put my finger on it...

I gasp, dropping the magnifying glass on the table.

"What?" Fialina asks, panic and hope mixed together in her voice.

"This is an acrostic poem," I explain. She looks at the page, trying to figure out the message.

_RUHTRA HAS ME._

"What? H-how is that possible? I thought neither of us knew about Ruhtra before you mentioned him!"

"She was in a trance. Of course, she may not have realised what she was writing."

"The pieces are falling together," she breathes.

"Whoever controlled her to do this was clever," I comment, "to leave us a clue that Ruhtra wouldn't notice."

I look over to Fialina. "I need to save her."

"How?" she asks incredulously as I get up from the chair.

"Get the spell books," I command, adjusting my collar. She speedily flies out of the room, and I walk after her, shutting the door behind me.

* * *

I divert my course downstairs, and enter the living room instead of my bedroom.

"Hey, Romania," I call. He looks away from the TV.

"Da?"

"Emmakala's...actually gone. I have good reason to believe that Ruhtra's holding her captive. Do me a favour and keep your cousin under control, will you?"

I feel like a parent talking to their child...

"If you do decide to go home, make sure you close the door."

"What? Anglia, are you sure about this? It sounds dangerous!"

"I'm positive."

"Then-then let me come with you!" he says, standing up from the sofa. Prussia continues to stare, zombified, at the TV screen, unfazed by our conversation.

"I'm not sure if that'll work. We may end up in different dream worlds..."

He shrugs. "It's worth a try. And after your alarm this morning," he glares at me, "I need to catch up on sleep. Even if it's only six."

I sigh. "If you must."

"Are we saving Emmakala or not?!" Fialina calls from upstairs.

"That's our cue," I mutter.


	19. Soporific Fairy Dust

**Why do I keep looking up Old English for this? And I even try to get the grammar construction right -_- oh well, it makes me feel happy. :)**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

"Okay, Fialina, if Prussia starts making too much noise, keep him quiet somehow so we don't get woken up. Emmakala's life may depend on it. Understood?"

Fialina nods in response to my question, shakily clinging to a small jar of soporific fairy dust. It glints faintly from the light on the ceiling.

Romania sets his hat down on the floor, making himself comfortable in his sleeping bag. I pull the covers of my bed up to my shoulders.

"Let me get this straight, Anglia. So we go into this dream world, which is basically just a cave, then...?"

"Then we look for Emmakala, and free her using magic," I finish. "We shall almost definitely face some opposition, however. Be on your guard."

He nods. "Let's do this."

"Fialina?" I ask, and she, knowing fully what to do, unscrews the lid of the jar. She approaches me first, delicately sprinkling the glittering dust over my face. Next, she moves on to Romania.

My limbs feel heavy with drowsiness, and my vision blurs. The dust particles falling onto Romania's face seem to become larger and more translucent as the magic kicks in.

"Romania and I are going to make you pay, Ruhtra," I whisper as my eyes close.

I vaguely hear Fialina telling us to be careful.

* * *

I open my eyes after an indefinite period of time; the ceiling light has been replaced by sunlight coming in through the hole in the cave. Is it eternally daytime in the dream world or something?

Looking around me, I realise that Romania isn't beside me. I sigh, getting to my feet.

"I guess I'll need to save Emmakala on my own, then," I mutter. "Hey, Ruhtra, I'm over here!"

My voice echoes back at me - "...over here! ...over here!" - before dying down completely. Ruhtra isn't going to come to me, so I had better go to him.

The question is, which tunnel?

I spin around for a few seconds and choose the path directly in front of me on a whim. I shrug, knowing that there wasn't much else I could've done, and begin my journey through the tunnel.

Each time I take a step, the sound ricochets throughout the tunnel, almost making it seem as if there were someone behind me. I scold myself; I shouldn't be thinking like this! I keep my head held high, determined not to give in to any childlike fears. America would be absolutely terrified at this point. I chuckle silently.

That strange feeling isn't gone, though. It still feels as if there's someone watching and/or following me, but whom? There isn't any noise save for my footsteps and marginally shallower breathing. The echoes sound a _little_ bit too loud, though...

As I walk on, the light behind me recedes. I soon notice the ominous darkness enveloping me - if there is someone behind me, then I won't be able to turn back. In fact, I might end up walking down here forever.

I stop suddenly, turning sharply. The footsteps stop as I do, and nobody crashes into me. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, confident that there is no one behind me, and carry on.

The light continues to diminish until it is almost pitch black. I step carefully, not wanting to trip over anything, because that would betray my dignity and leave me vulnerable to whatever may be lurking here.

No, I'm not paranoid. I'm just keeping my guard up.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, one I should've had much earlier: to light the way using magic. Of course!

"Ic ámane sum léohtfruman," I chant. "Lá Eallwealdan! Lá léohtsáwend! Ic ábiddee-"

My spell is suddenly cut off by a loud crashing sound further down the tunnel. I curse, hurriedly finishing the chant. A soft, glowing orb of light appears in front of me, casting light in all directions so that I can see. Out of curiosity, I move in the direction of the noise, and the orb moves with me. I quicken my pace, wanting to know what's happening.

Distracted by my own thoughts, I stop focusing on what's ahead of me and slam into a wall - this tunnel is a dead end.

"Ow," I groan. That was incredibly stupid, so much that I almost start to clap slowly and sarcastically.

The orb of light has drifted upwards to avoid getting crushed between me and the wall. I look up towards it, blinking as my eyes adjust. Illuminated above my head is a continuation of the tunnel.

I rub my right arm, which took most of the force of the collision, as I look upwards, trying to figure out how to continue. There are no paths around the rocky wall I just slammed into.

"Perfect," I whisper to myself, "I'm going to have to climb."

Not that I'm unfit or anything, since I did a lot of climbing back in my pirate days. But this is different; there are no clear hand or footholds.

"Best to get this over and done with," I breathe, letting my arms drop to my sides.

* * *

"That," I pant, "didn't work."

I collapse to the floor, my arms scratched and aching. Maybe I should just go back and take a different tunnel...no, the British Empire never gives up!

My chest heaves with my heavy breathing. Ugh, I need to stop trying to be like an action hero! I don't even like those films. Generally, anyway.

I sit on the ground for a while before realising that this wouldn't get me anywhere. Standing up, I face the wall again, taking deep breaths to mentally prepare myself.

My eyes snap open. "This time," I whisper to myself, feeling the wall for any dents or protuberances.

Then I hear a voice from above me.

"Need a hand, Anglia?"


	20. Running Blindly

**Vladimir seems to be the most common fan name for Romania, considering he doesn't have an official human name...plus, I've grown attached to it :).**

**Wow, it feels weird having nothing to ramble about.**

* * *

"Yes! It worked!" I exclaim, reaching up. I clasp Romania's hand and he pulls me up into another tunnel with just two options - left or right.

"Well then, Anglia, where are we going?" he asks.

"I don't know," I reply. "Which way did that loud crash come from earlier?"

"That was somewhere above the tunnel." The dimly glowing light - my magic seems to have faded after that episode of physical exertion earlier - illuminates his hand, pointing upwards.

"Well then...which way did you come from, so we can go the other way?"

"I didn't come from either way," he responds. "I just opened my eyes and happened to be right here. Is this the dream world, then?"

"It is indeed."

"Not very exciting, is it?" he asks.

I shrug. "I suppose not. So, how about we go left?"

"There can't be any harm in it," he replies, taking the tunnel to our left. I follow him at his side.

As we walk, he studies the glowing orb floating in front of us carefully. "What spell did you use for this?" he queries.

"I'll teach you it later. Let's just rescue Emmakala first; I hope nothing bad's happened to her," I add solemnly.

"Hey, Anglia. It'll be fine, I'm sure."

I glance up at his face. "Well, you can't kn-"

He makes eye contact with me, startled by my spontaneous lack of speech. "What is it?"

I stare at him for a moment, wordlessly, while my detective instincts kick in. "Okay. So it appears that people's appearances change upon entering this world."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for a start," I explain, "your hair is whiter than Prussia's."

"Really?" he replies incredulously, pulling a few strands of hair in front of one eye. "Wow, that must look strange."

"I don't think you'd have red eyes like mine, seeing as your eyes are normally red. They'd probably have changed. Stop for a second, will you?"

He stops walking, and I move the orb of light so it's closer to his face. It's warm to the touch, a welcome contrast from the cool air. I inspect his eye colour, careful to not lean too close that it'd become awkward.

"Blue," I conclude, returning the orb to its position in front of us.

"Cool," he mutters as I retract away from him.

"Let's get on with saving Emmakala already," I say. "I wonder what she'll look like."

As I take another step forward, a crash, louder than before, sounds out from behind us. We freeze in place, turning to the source of the noise.

The ceiling above where we were a short while ago cracks, small chunks of stone raining down. Another crash causes a cloud of dust to form, and even more rocks to fall. A small hole forms, growing in size with each impact, as if something's trying to break in.

"Should we run?" Romania whispers.

"If I say to," I command, watching the gaping hole in the ceiling for any sign of movement.

"Rimidalv!" calls out a voice. I remember how everyone here seems to have backwards names, so I attempt to reverse it in my mind.

Wait, isn't that...

"Romania, what's your human name again?" I ask him, keeping my gaze fixated on the same spot.

"Vladimir, why?"

"I'll explain later, but now..." I pause to listen as I hear more speaking from above.

"Rimidalv, stop being so careless!" the same voice hisses. "If you're not careful, they'll..."

I don't need to listen anymore. I know that's Ruhtra's voice.

"Anglia?"

"Questions later; we need to run. Now," I command, trying to keep my voice level. My desperation still shows in the last word.

He nods understandingly, and for the second time since this entire drama began, we take off together in a run. Except this time, we have no idea where we're going.

After a minute(?), as I tire more and more from keeping up my speed, the light gradually fades.

"Anglia, the light," Romania pants, clearly feeling as exhausted as I am.

"I don't have the energy," I breathe in return.

The light soon flickers out, plunging us and the surrounding area into darkness.

"W-wait, Romania, stop..." I weakly call out, stopping so suddenly I feel a rush of faintness.

I hear his feet skid on the ground as he follows suit.

"I don't think we're being pursued," I explain.

"How...how far did we run?" he asks, panting.

"I'm not sure. Far enough," I answer.

"So, anyway, considering we're safe now, why did you need to know my human name?"

"Well...for some reason, everyone here has our names in reverse. So Ruhtra is Arthur backwards, and he mentioned someone called Navi last night. So when he said Rimidalv, I was just wondering if that was your...I don't know, mirror self?"

"I see," he replies. "That makes some sense, I guess."

We remain in relative silence for a while, the only sounds our heavy breathing. Ruhtra and Rimidalv probably went the wrong way or something.

"We should get a move on with saving Emmakala."

"I really don't have the energy for that light spell again, and we can't exactly proceed when it's this dark," I whisper.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Ruhtra might be lurking somewhere," I suggest.

"Alright," he replies, dropping his voice to a lower volume. "Can you locate her somehow?"

"I'll try, but it's unlikely to work..."

"You can use some of my magical energy, if it'd help," he offers.

"Thanks," I respond, smiling weakly even though he can't see.

I chant the spell in a hushed voice. "Lá Eallwealdan! Mé íewaþ Emmakala!"

It seems that I'm speaking a lot of Old English today.

A faint red spark appears before my eyes, which slowly fades to a lime green. It jitters madly before speeding off down the tunnel in the direction we came.

An image flashes into my mind: Emmakala.

"Found her," I whisper to Romania, while checking the details of the image. Her hair is still purple as ever. She looks pale, but that might just be compared to the surrounding cave walls. So she _is_ in the dream world, then.

Something's not right. She's staring at the ground, her face openly displaying pain and dispiritedness. Her knees are on the ground, with her feet on either side. Her hands are in her lap.

Bound in chains.

Iron chains.


	21. Previously, in the Future

**Wow, sorry guys, this chapter has so much dialogue :/ but it's important so you understand what's happening a bit more, even if it is confusing. I mean, we finally find out why Ruhtra's _REALLY_ doing this. And, if you're observant, a few more things.**

**Argh this is riddled with paradoxes. My brain hurts.**

**Longest chapter yet, at over 3k words and 4 hours (plus research). I should probably get started on the inevitable holiday homework.**

**Hehe, this time we're going for Harry Potter references. Don't get me wrong, I'm just not actually a huge fan ^_^. Remember Jolene? I almost called her Hermione, but I decided against it because it would start turning into a Xover.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"How dare he?!"

"W-what is it?" Romania asks, startled by my outburst.

"Emmakala's being held hostage. In _iron_ chains." My voice wavers at the last few words. "Sight or no sight, we need to save her."

He doesn't respond.

"Romania?"

I hear the sound of a hand connecting with a face, leaving me momentarily confused until Romania scolds himself for his own stupidity. "Well, I nodded, but you couldn't see."

I roll my eyes. Which is equally pointless.

"Come on," I beckon. "We're going to rescue her."

"Got it," he replies. "Wait, which way are we going?"

"The way we came from."

"Which way is that?"

"Uhhh..."

I hear footsteps as Romania blunders through the darkness.

"Ow."

"Well done," I mumble sarcastically, realising he probably walked into a wall.

"Oh, shut it," he replies. "Don't you have your energy back now?"

"Probably," I reply, chanting the light-casting spell again, experimentally.

It works, and a new glowing orb illuminates the tunnel.

"So, which way are we going?" he queries, looking both ways down the tunnel.

"I'm not sure, but I doubt it'd be wise to randomly select a direction this time," I answer.

Just as I'm saying this, the spark from earlier returns to me.

"That was convenient," Romania exclaims, starting to walk off in the direction the spark came from.

I follow behind him, but soon overtake him with lengthened strides.

"Whoa, slow down!"

"I'm worried about Emmakala," I explain, "and I'd rather get there as quickly as possible."

He takes the hint and speeds up to match my stride. Soon, I hear two people bickering.

"Hide!" I hiss, and we dive behind a nearby rock. I motion, panicked, for him to cover up the light, which he does using his arms.

I stay pressed against the rock, only just hidden out of view, and attempt to listen in on the conversation. However, I can't hear it from this distance.

"Stay here," I whisper, cautiously peeking over the edge of the rock. I creep out from behind it, hunched over, and sneak closer.

A faint glow from a lamp on the wall allows two figures to be seen. They must've lit or placed that lamp just now, because there was no light earlier.

"...why do these tunnels have to be so poorly laid out?" That was the unfamiliar voice speaking: Rimidalv.

"You were just too lazy to go the normal way! What is Aea going to think about this?" Ruhtra replies.

"What's she going to think about you kidnapping that worthless fairy girl?"

I flinch, biting my lip to stop myself from retorting. How dare he refer to her in such a manner!

"Besides, that was unnecessary. It even involved you being in the human world," he continues.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rimidalv replies sarcastically, "IT'S FORBIDDEN!"

"It got him back here sooner, didn't it? And it brought someone else here, which means you have a job now."

"It's not Vladimir's time yet," he responds. "One nation at a time, remember? He's not even supposed to be here yet, and the entire system is going to get messed up now!"

"Calm down!"

"What am I meant to do? I haven't gone through all of the training yet; I don't know what he has to remember or how to make him relive those memories!"

"I don't know, do nothing?"

One of them (presumably Rimidalv) hisses in fury. "Why did you have to summon him here? I can't rest until he's gone!"

"So he's attached to me in some way?" whispers a voice from behind me.

"What are you doing?" I reply. "I told you to stay there!"

"I was curious," he mutters, crouching on the ground behind my right-hand side.

Romania, however, doesn't get much of a chance to listen in on the conversation; Rimidalv storms off after hurling a couple of profanities at the other.

Ruhtra stays motionless as his companion abandons him. Once he's not only out of sight (a few metres in this darkness) but out of earshot, he turns around to face me. I presume that he can't actually see me because it's too dark over here, and hopefully that's the case.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur," he says mockingly. I tense up. "Did you _really_ think you could hide from me? I can sense your presence by magical means as well as by sight."

"Ruhtra," I respond, infuriated. "What have you done to Emmakala?"

"Oh, her?" he laughs. "I knew that she would make the perfect bait."

"I was going to come looking for answers sooner or later, anyway." I emerge from the shadows. "Free her immediately. I don't fear you."

He begins to laugh maniacally. "Free her?" he echoes. "And you don't fear me? Oh, stop, stop, this is too much!"

"Release her. She doesn't deserve this."

I let one hand slowly drift behind my back as Ruhtra's distracted by his own laughter. Discreetly, I point down the tunnel, as a hand signal for Romania to sneak past and rescue Emmakala.

"I didn't believe your ridiculous story of feeding on memories for a second. I never trusted you, and with good reason."

"Really? You seemed to fall for my acting, though. Liar."

"I didn't fall for anything," I reply through clenched teeth. "I just have compassion for other people. Unlike you."

"Admit it. You're gullible and fell for it."

"I've had a lot of seemingly impossible things happen to me. And I might not have trusted you, but I felt some degree of pity for you. Considering how terrified you were of your superior the first time I entered this world..."

"I-I knew you were there! That was an act!"

"I don't believe you for a second," I reply instantly. "Now, if you're not going to free Emmakala, I'll have to do so myself."

I move forwards, planning on walking straight past him, but he sidesteps and blocks my path.

"I can't let you do that, Arthur," he says, obstructing me. "Your friend," he practically spits the words, "isn't going anywhere."

"What's your motivation for all of this?!" I cry out. "Why did you have to get Emmakala involved?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he responds, eyes glinting with insanity. "For too long our lives have been shunned. My kind used to be respected, but we were driven back by all of you."

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you babbling about?"

"Have you never heard of the War of All Time?"

"I've witnessed a lot of wars in my time, and I've never heard of that one."

"Really? It's the most famous war I've heard of. Because it was the only one in which humankind fought another species."

I raise an eyebrow incredulously. "That's ridiculous. No other species is capable of actually being at war with humans."

"False. Namuhkind could."

"Namuh...? Oh wait," I roll my eyes, "this is another of your stupid reversed names, isn't it?"

"That's because we have always been in the shadow of you humans."

"Just tell me what's happening already!" I snap. "You're not making any sense!"

"Well, let's start at 512 BTR..."

"BTR?" I repeat.

He sighs exasperatedly. "Before the Return?" he expands.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's an important date in our calendar. In your human calendar, I think it'd be..."

He ponders for a moment, giving me a chance to think over and figure out what he's trying to convey. War of All Time? Is he making this up?

"...2079. Your society began to collapse. Countries started to lose their individuality as everyone tried to be on peaceful terms with one another, which led to many world leaders declaring that all borders should be ignored, and they would all come together to form Pangaea Beta. There would be no distinguishing between cultures, and everyone could roam freely. It sounded like a perfect world," his voice turns sour, "then _you _had to intervene."

"Well, of course! If countries ever became ignored, we would all simply cease to exist!"

"Precisely," he comments, nodding. "You and your fellow nations didn't want that to happen. So you all got together and, using new technology of some kind, tried to...I don't know exactly how to explain this. You split yourselves into other lifeforms so that you couldn't die."

"Like Voldemort?" I cut in.

He cocks his head in confusion.

"Never mind, carry on," I mutter. I don't know why I thought he'd be familiar with 'human' forms of entertainment.

"That's where namuhs come in. We were created by a mixture of technological and magical means, and looked very similar to you. _You_ personally weren't satisfied with our sentience, and had us locked up, seeing us as burdens. You'd wanted inanimate objects-"

"Basically horcruxes, then?" Maybe that isn't the most considerate thing to say, considering that his rage would be understandable if this is a true story.

He stares at me irritatedly. "I don't care about your human terms." He clears his throat. "Anyway, we spent many, many years in complete darkness. We only found solace while asleep, and gradually spent more and more of our time asleep, until we never woke. Being magical, we had no needs, therefore there was no reason to be awake. Gradually, our dreams became more lucid, and merged together. Without knowing how, we slowly came to control the land of dreams, and made many networks below the ground. Observe."

He gestures around us. "Centuries passed in perfect harmony, until we were woken up by one of your kind. We were informed that rumours of our existence had leaked, and a vote had been cast to free us. Thus, we somehow got to our feet after having slept for so long, and were led up to the surface. Instantly, the sun blinded us."

"This sounds far too intricate for you to have made up," I comment.

"That's because it's all true."

"So how did you return to this time?"

"I'm getting to that," he replies hostilely. "Our skin was burnt in the blink of an eye. I remember feeling hands drag me into shadows. The stench of charred flesh was so strong, humans ran in all directions. I could hear their screams, their hurried footsteps, but I didn't care. It was insignificant due to the searing pain," he narrates.

His words are slowly becoming more pained, to the point where I'm almost convinced that this happened, or should I say, will happen.

"I felt something being draped over me - a soft cloak with an almost silky quality to it. Around the year 2190, a human perfected the art of clothes-making, finding a cloth that was durable, comfortable and cheap. I still wear this same cloak." He gestures to himself. "However, that's off topic. Next thing I knew, I was being led to a room, and laid down on a hard plastic surface. I have no way of knowing what happened, but I remember the moment when my sight was restored. Humans were observing me from above, and I almost hugged them out of joy. Instead, I just sat up, and saw the rest of us around me, all in hooded cloaks. Their eyes were barely recognisable as eyes save for their positions - they were small, glowing circles. A mirror was shoved into my hands; I accepted it and held it to my face. The sight I saw was horrifying. I, too, was like them with two yellow gem-like eyes, and everything else was shrouded. I didn't dare to see what was underneath."

"What did you look like beforehand, then?"

"I was a clone of you, obviously. Except I needed to look different, so nobody would confuse us. Therefore, I was genetically engineered to have pointed ears, just else all other namuhs, and I had...well, this was a while ago so I can't remember perfectly. I think I had jet-black hair with red eyes. Not that it matters now," he sighs.

My eyes widen with surprise. "But that's...what I look like now."

He looks at me and finally seems to register my appearance. In disbelief, he takes a step back. "That can't be."

"Okay, things are beginning to make a bit of sense. Just give me the end of this story already, will you?"

"No need to be so impatient!" he remarks, breathing deeply in preparation for continuing the story. "Namuhs and humans lived in relative peace for years afterwards, but you still weren't happy. You hated our existence and believed that there was no need for it. Against better judgement, you stubbornly stuck by your views."

"What? Why would I be like that?"

"Face it, Arthur, you always get angered when you lose and hold grudges forever. You were the only one who wanted to exterminate our entire race through unreasonable hatred," he spits.

I stagger slightly from the verbal blow. "That doesn't sound like me."

"Yes it does," he continues. This is all a lie and I'm not willing to believe it! "It took you years, but you convinced the world that you should reintroduce countries. At first you were heavily opposed, but then you delved into the past and taught them of what you thought to be the 'amazing differentiation of cultures'. Like brainless sheep, humans and ex-nations alike were actually swayed by your argument and began to reinstate borders, making ex-nations into nations once more. Your immortality was restored, and you were closer to accomplishing your goal."

"I do consider myself to be a somewhat eloquent orator, but not to that level. Is it even possible for one person to change the entire world?" I ponder aloud.

"It's possible when civilians of the time were so _stupid_ as to believe your argument had a point. Following these events, you spent your days capturing us in our sleep, with the help of weaker nations. It was easy for you because we still spent so much time asleep. Then, when you had all of us, you exiled us from that time."

"Time travel's possible?" I query.

"In your future, science and magic will join forces. A lot of things are possible if that happens."

"Right, so I'll become evil in the future and send you back in time? That seriously doesn't sound like anything I'd do."

"It doesn't matter what you think now. I just need to make you realise how bad your judgement was then and prevent you from doing it."

"However," I intervene, "if I don't send you back in time, you won't be here to stop me, thus creating a paradox."

"Actually, it'll make no difference because I'm already here, and my existence won't be erased until another version of me comes to exist in several decades' time."

"Right. I'm not going to send you back in time or anything if that actually happens. Now let Emmakala go," I demand.

"You're not going to stick to your word," he chuckles. "I know you won't. Because I'm here, aren't I?"

I furrow my brows in confusion. "You just said that that wouldn't prove anything!"

"I lied," he replies mischievously.

"Well of course you did. You were lying the whole time, and I was humouring you. There were several faults."

"Oh? Do tell," he says condescendingly.

"Firstly, with the way you forced me to relive that memory during the Blitz, you were making me start to dislike you. You wouldn't be trying to do that if you wanted me to like you. Come to think of it, maybe my future self would have hated you because of what you're about to do now." I realise a flaw in my argument. "Hang on, then I wouldn't have sent you back in time to torture me..." I seethe. "Blast! This makes no sense!"

"How about I take your mind off of things? Say, with a little poetry, perhaps? What if I brought it to life? I'm sure you'd like that..."

"I'll have to reject your offer," I say bluntly, but I still feel the surroundings fading away, including Ruhtra.

I step back in surprise. I notice that I'm in a valley of some kind.

"Now which poem to begin with..." Ruhtra's voice continues, in my head. He pretends to be deciding which poem to recite. "How about this one!" he exclaims in feigned victory. "It's written by a British poet, so you should like it. Let's see...his name is Lord Alfred Tennyson. What's the title of this poem again?"

"Stop acting like you don't have this information readily available and get to the point!" I snap, regardless of whether he can hear me.

The sound of rapid and numerous hoof-falls reaches my ears, and I whirl around to see an oncoming cavalry of several hundred.

Six hundred.

"The title of this poem is..."

The horses' hooves kick up clouds of dust as they race through the valley towards me. This scene is all too familiar.

"No...no, Ruhtra, DON'T!" I howl to the sky.

A man rides out in front of the mass of bodies, and I recognise him immediately. Captain Louis Edward Nolan.

I stand there, petrified, watching the last few seconds of his life go by in a flash. He rides forward, his intentions unclear even to this day, and I turn away as a Cossacks' artillery shell nears him.

The group comes closer to me, and I force myself not to look at Captain Nolan's bloodied corpse. Instead, I look up, seeing the Russians on both flanks of the horsemen.

"Make it stop," I whisper, not sure whether I'm talking to Ruhtra or some higher power. "Don't let this happen, please!"

"Is everyone ready for today's poetry recital?" asks Ruhtra in a mocking tone. He coughs lightly. "Our first poem will be...Charge of the Light Brigade."


	22. Half a League Onward

**Okay, I won't resist the urge to make another Homestuck reference. Apparently Sburb Gamma was meant to be released today; seems it was just a rumour.**

**I'm terrible at delivering jokes. Sorry guys.**

**Are you all ready for another depressing chapter? :D I don't even know how I just wrote anything that twisted and gory D: *be warned*.**

* * *

_Half a league, half a league,_

_Half a league onward,_

_All in the valley of Death,_

_Rode the six hundred._

_'Forward, the Light Brigade!_

_Charge for the guns' he said:_

_Into the valley of Death_

_Rode the six hundred._

I look towards the cavalry of six hundred, racing forwards on horseback with Lord Cardigan at the lead, myself included. I'd chosen to fight amongst them.

My past self's face is steeled, but still betraying terror in realisation of the situation's futility. Some of the other soldiers steal glances at the top of the valley to either side, seeing the many Cossacks with their cannons at the ready.

The cannonade begins, and the horses bolt in panic, moving ever faster towards the guns. One of them lets out a shrill whinny, blood spurting from its side, and collapses to the ground. Its rider falls with it, arms flung out haphazardly. The man behind fails to halt his horse in time; bones crunch sickeningly under hooves.

_'Forward, the Light Brigade!'_

_Was there a man dismay'd?_

_Not tho' the soldiers knew_

_Some one had blunder'd:_

_Theirs not to make reply,_

_Theirs not to reason why,_

_Theirs but to do and die:_

_Into the valley of Death_

_Rode the six hundred._

"Shut up, Ruhtra," I mumble. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I chant, my voice increasing in amplitude with each word.

More blood stains the ground as more bodies, horses and humans alike, are hit by canister. They fall with heart-wrenching shouts and neighs. Any hope they have of getting out alive is crushed, as they are trampled by the horses behind them. Their screams of agony echo throughout the valley. Twisted and broken bodies litter the ground behind the remaining cavalry.

Pained shouts, the last movements their lungs will ever make, mix with the Cossacks' laughter. My past self gives them a brief look of disdain before returning his focus to the guns ahead.

_Cannon to right of them,_

_Cannon to left of them,_

_Cannon in front of them_

_Volley'd and thunder'd;_

_Storm'd at with shot and shell,_

_Boldly they rode and well,_

_Into the jaws of Death,_

_Into the mouth of Hell_

_Rode the six hundred._

Just as Ruhtra begins the third stanza, the Cossacks begin to close in on them from behind, now shooting from all directions. Lord Cardigan continues to lead on the brigade _into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell_.

There are very thin lines between bravery, stupidity and madness.

Gunshots continue to sound out. My past self winces suddenly, and the red cloth of his uniform darkens with blood on his left upper arm. Startled, he lets go of the reins with one hand as his arm goes limp. The other hand clings to the reins, white-knuckled.

_Flash'd all their sabres bare,_

_Flash'd as they turned in air_

_Sabring the gunners there,_

_Charging an army while_

_All the world wonder'd:_

_Plunged in the battery-smoke_

_Right thro' the line they broke;_

_Cossack and Russian_

_Reel'd from the sabre-stroke_

_Shatter'd and sunder'd._

_Then they rode back, but not_

_Not the six hundred._

I dart to the side as the oncoming brigade nears me. Once they pass, they finally reach the gunners they've been aiming for, raising their swords and slashing at the Cossacks. I silently cheer, and then look to my past self. With one arm useless and the other wielding a sword, he's having difficulty staying on his horse.

Nevertheless, he continues to fight. His horse stumbles as he sways dangerously, yet doesn't topple over. I've always considered myself to have a good sense of balance.

They continue to fight until, seeing how few the remaining men are, Lord Cardigan calls for a retreat. The soldiers turn their horses around and begin their return up the valley again. Meanwhile, since he only has one functioning arm, my past self throws his sabre at one of the Cossacks. Dead on target. We smirk simultaneously as he drops to his knees.

_Cannon to right of them,_

_Cannon to left of them,_

_Cannon behind them_

_Volley'd and thunder'd;_

_Storm'd at with shot and shell,_

_While horse and hero fell,_

_They that had fought so well_

_Came thro' the jaws of Death,_

_Back from the mouth of Hell,_

_All that was left of them,_

_Left of six hundred._

But the battle isn't over. My past self narrowly avoids getting hit by a canister as the man beside him falls to the ground. His blood splatters my past self, leaving his hair half-blonde, half-ruby red. As with all the others who'd fallen before that man, the horse behind tramples him underhoof.

I screw my eyes shut, remembering all too quickly how I'd looked back and seen him lying on the ground, eyes still wide and uniform bloodied, as a hoof pressed down on his ribs.

Shaking my head and biting my lip, I will the image to go away, but his pitiful screams only magnify the image's intensity.

_When can their glory fade?_

_O the wild charge they made!_

_All the world wonder'd._

Ruhtra's voice slowly sounds less like it's just in my head, and more...real. As if he were standing directly in front of me, finishing the poem.

_Honour the charge they made!_

_Honour the Light Brigade,_

I notice through my eyelids that the sunlight is slowly fading. Ruhtra's voice is entirely sarcastic, in blatant disrespect of what just happened. I clench my teeth. Of course he would be so discourteous.

"Noble six hundred!" he finishes mockingly. "Did you enjoy that poem?" he asks, obviously not caring whether I'd enjoyed it or not, as I open my eyes to discover I've returned to the cave. "It's one of my personal favourites."

I seethe. "Stop it, Ruhtra."

I could swear that, if he had a face, he'd be grinning wickedly. Or should I say, if his face were visible.

"What did you say?" he inquires with heavy condescension. "Switch to a different memory?"

My face pales. "No, no, anything but that...!" I plead, but it's hopeless.

Once more, the cave begins to fade away, being replaced with another memory. I look around my surroundings, trying to recognise them.

That river looks familiar...very familiar...

Are these memories ALL going to be during one wartime or another?!


	23. The Slaughter of the Somme

**Merry Christmas to you all! It's a pity that there won't be any celebrations going on in NPIS, seeing as it's still early December there...and it's time for the Battle of the Somme!**

**I'm listening to Basshunter and LMFAO right now...I'm not sure how this'll turn out...**

**So, anyways, Merry Christmas to cheshiresapprentice, Pinkknight98, hurricaneclaw, ThE-fAiNtInG-fAnGiRl, kitsy17, XxxForeverfallenangelXxx, Mariko Midori, Mein Awesomeness, ReadPrayWorship, Salmay, kokonut27, Gothgirl220, Prince Zombie Frog, ****SakuraMoriChan**** :D, KyandiDaSheep, Lady Shadow 77, Fionn Rose, Dark Contrast, A Shoulder To Lean On, The Black Dove Flyeth, mindpearl, Brofist98, wishstone500, MarinaTheJolteonMaster, LittleKatreina, Dawnstar10K, Dani9922, EternalCacogen323, and holderoftheheart. Also to any anonymous readers out there!**

**All you guys rock and have AMAZING usernames. And I'm just chilling here with my name from a dream. True story, guys, Mitrus was my name in a random dream. You know what, I'm going to write that story out at some point for you guys, and it'll count as a Hetalia fic because of Austria. In a few days' time.**

**So, enjoy some depressing war memories!**

* * *

I hide in an abandoned trench as myself, France, a portion of my Empire and many soldiers from all areas shoot repeatedly at the Germans, returning the artillery fire from the discomfort of their own trenches. I'm not sure whether their bullets and shells would harm me or not, considering this is just a memory, but I'd rather not risk it.

Instantly I recognise that this is the first day of the Battle of the Somme, 1916. The worst day of the British army.

I peek out of the trench, cautiously. The area is littered with barbed wire, so much that to make an advance now would be tactically stupid.

This is the same thought that Haig, the Butcher of the Somme, had going through his mind. While enjoying his luxuries and commanding as if controlling toy soldiers, he ordered them to attempt to blow a hole in the wire using a shell.

The result of this? Well, I'm about to witness it. Again.

A shell sails through the air, landing directly on its target - the barbed wire. The explosion causes it to jump up into the air momentarily, before falling to the ground once more, even more tangled than before. I duck down into my trench again to evade the shrapnel tearing through the air like a thousand swords.

Once the assault of haphazard death is gone, I look over the edge of the trench towards my soldiers' hideout, just as they're ceasing artillery fire.

In hindsight, I realise that's a stupid move. That warned the Germans of our arrival! How could I have been so careless? It's not like I had no voice in the corrupt army caste!

I watch as a head looks over the trench, followed by the rest of the soldier's body as he climbs out. Burdened with heavy equipment, he begins a slow march across No-Man's Land. Another soldier climbs out behind him, and another, until a long, single-file line is crossing the barren wasteland.

They come up to the barbed wire, slightly confused that it hasn't been cut. Regardless, they climb through it, or try to. Some of them remain entangled in the wire, tugging for all they're worth.

The Germans' aim is good with these new, immobile targets. A soldier suddenly begins to shake spastically in a way that couldn't possibly be an attempt to free himself. His body slumps to the floor lifelessly, in a uniform of stained-red khaki.

The men surrounding him freeze in horror, before using a strength born of fear, tugging their limbs from the barbed wire. They ignore the gashes left in them - only survival matters. But they're too slow, and one by one, they're shot down and killed.

I cover my eyes and crouch as far down into the trench as I can, shuddering. From the anguished yells, I can tell that the slow line of soldiers has been targeted, obvious in the barren land in plain daylight. Plain bloody daylight.

Wanting to escape the slaughter happening on the surface, I slide as far into the trench as possible. My foot slips and reaches...nothing. As if there's a massive dip in the trench. I clutch to a couple of rocks tightly, looking down to judge whether or not to jump down.

But all I see is black. As if to scream at me that there's no escape. My foot is dangling in a void, which must mean that my past self never saw the bottom of this trench. For all he knows, for all I knew, it never existed.

I scramble back up the trench, only to be met with the sight of more gory death. I've had enough of it...seeing the worst mistakes and moments of my past, where thousands died...because of me. And on this day, there were sixty thousand casualties, because I didn't stop Haig...

"THIS IS TOO MUCH, RUHTRA!" I scream, tears streaking down my cheeks. Why do I have to suffer all of these memories again? Why me...I haven't even done anything to Ruhtra! Yet. If his story is actually believable. But this is just too far!

I hug my knees into my chest, sobbing, willing that everything around me disappear. Burying my face into my knees, I cancel out one sense at least, but I can still hear all of the horrific sounds. The guns, the explosions, the final screams of men as they hit the ground...

* * *

"Look at you. You're so pathetic," Ruhtra says. I look up meekly, seeing his yellow eyes narrowed and fixated on my cowering form. Since when have I left that battlefield? Standing up quickly, I tell myself aloud that this is all a dream. Which it actually is.

"And here I was thinking that you're supposed to be brave," he sneers. "You haven't a cell in your body that is free of cowardice. Now, you don't even have a morsel of dignity either."

I flinch. Words sting, no matter whether you take up the 'sticks and stones' motto or not. The hurt feeling is replaced by rage - at Haig and Ruhtra, but especially at the latter.

"You're taking this too far, Ruhtra," I choke out through a mostly concealed sob. "What have I done to deserve a punishment like this?"

"I told you," he replies nonchalantly.

"Very well then, if you're one to hold grudges against something I doubt I will do in the future. So tell me this," I say, leaning in. My voice begins to waver, even as I hiss these words in irateness. "What has Emmakala done?"


	24. An Onion?

**Merry Boxing Day! :D Did you guys get good presents yesterday?**

**PROFESSOR LAYTON AND THE MIRACLE MASK has taken up six and a half hours of my time these past two days. I love it. I love it love it love it. Also, let's just say that my chocolate/sweets and book stashes have both doubled :)**

**Anyone else here love the Manga Shakespeare series? I got Twelfth Night! And also Star Trek as a manga. Uhh...**

**On the actual booky book front, I got the Hunger Games trilogy :) I've seen the film, but I've never read the books.**

***Sighs* Nobody cares about my presents any more than Old English grammar. Just enjoy this chapter already :)**

* * *

He doesn't reply. Instead, he simply laughs, a deranged laugh that fills me with rage.

"WHAT HAS SHE DONE?!" I reiterate, more loudly and forcefully over the obnoxious cacophony of his laughter, to the point of screaming in his face.

By now, Emmakala's wrists are probably covered in blisters from those iron handcuffs. Iron is the weakness of Fae. To bind a fairy in chains, let alone ones of iron, is...just monstrous.

Wait a second...I sent Romania to save her, didn't I? I need to see if that worked.

"Ruhtra. Take me to her," I demand in a level voice.

"Take you to her?" he echoes. "Right away, your _Highness_," he adds sarcastically, walking down the tunnel. I swiftly follow along behind him.

A little while later, we come across a body lying on the ground in a red cloak. I smirk; Romania must have been here. Ruhtra rushes to Rimidalv's side, telling him to wake up.

It seems that despite their bickering earlier, they're good friends. Just like France and I are...shut UP, brain.

I hate that git, just to clarify. I really do.

I realign my train of thought and realise that Ruhtra is distracted at the moment. All I need to do is utter a single-worded spell...

"Beslæp," I utter - the singular imperative for the word beslæpan: to sleep, but a voice in my head speaks up to tell me that nobody cares. The only thing that matters is that it works, and Ruhtra collapses beside his friend.

"Nice one," I whisper to myself. I then race along the tunnel, passing the point at which I first saw Romania on this plane. Maybe this is a little too easy, but I guess Ruhtra's careless at points.

"Hello there, Arthur," says a feminine voice from behind me. Her voice has the similar angelical quality as Ruhtra's and Rimidalv's, except with none of the rasp.

I whip around and see yet another cloaked figure. Do all of namuhkind find themselves _that_ hideous?

But the difference is...bloody hell, she's almost twice my height. My eyes slowly move upwards until they meet her obscured face, a black shadow to contrast with the beige of her cloak. And her eyes, instead of being yellow, are heterochromatic: her left eye is a coral pink, her right a sky blue.

"It appears that you've succeeded in taking out two of my subordinates," she enunciates, glancing at the two bodies on the floor, with her hands elegantly clasped together behind her back.

"Well, actually just one of them. Rimidalv had already collapsed by the time I got here..."

"Is that true?" she questions, her gaze still fixated on the two unconscious namuhs. Wow, that is a weird word. "I remember when your friend passed through here a short while ago."

I almost blurt out "Has he saved Emmakala?" before remembering that she's supposed to be my enemy. Why are we even conversing so civilly?

Instead of asking stupid questions, I just let her continue. "He was rather valiant, attempting to overwhelm Rimidalv with naught but a fist. It ended up being an idiotic plan, because he punched him in the face, not knowing that these eyes," she points to her blue eye, pausing dramatically, "burn."

"Then what happened?"

She shrugs, finally turning to look down at me. "He withdrew his hand, cast a quick spell, and continued on his way."

I fold my arms over my chest. "Well, ma'am, thank you for the information," I say with the usual level of propriety, "but I really must dash. So if you'll excuse me-"

She cuts me off. "Emmakala won't be going anywhere." I look up at her face in shock. "And neither will you."

"Is that so?" I challenge. "Pray tell, who might you be to make such a remark?"

"My name is Aea. I believe Ruhtra might have mentioned me at some point. I'm in charge of everything here."

"Well then, Aea," I reply mockingly - oh God, I'm not turning into Ruhtra, am I? - "what are you going to do?"

Silently, she continues to stare at me condescendingly, but I'm not intimidated by her. Hell, there isn't any reason to fear her. Except, maybe, the fact that she's huge...and maybe that something strange just materialised in her hand...

I squint at this new object, trying to see despite the darkness.

"Is that...an onion?" I inquire. The corners of my mouth twitch, before I begin laughing despite the situation. "AN ONION? That is just so random!" I blurt out.

"Harrumph," she responds in an uptight way, holding the onion just below the level of her neck. She brings it up to eye level and stares at it intently, until it turns the same half-blue half-pink as her eye colours.

"What is that going to do?" I continue taunting her. She loses her patience - or perhaps this was her plan all along - and throws the weirdly-coloured onion at my head. It smells like a beach at low tide, and I momentarily wonder why before the onion collides with my face.

"Ouch," I say, stumbling backwards. That did NOT feel like an onion. It felt like a cricket ball, and trust me, that is incredibly painful.

As I stagger, she steps closer to me and pushes me backwards. Being disoriented, I fail at balancing and fall over, grimacing at the thought of hitting the ground.

But I don't hit the ground.

The situation makes itself clear to me: she just pushed me off of a ledge. However, I can't see the ground below, since I'm facing upwards. Everything seems to slow down, and my head tilts back of its own accord, followed by the rest of my body. Terrified of slamming head-first onto the rocky ground below, I flail around in an attempt to bring myself upright.

I catch a glimpse of Aea looking down over the edge, just before I realise that if I can't see the ground I can't brace for impact.

That thought doesn't stay in my mind for long; my head crashes into a rock, and I quickly black out.

* * *

**Quick end note: that pink and blue onion? It was in another dream of mine. I thought it'd fit because this is a dream world, after all.**


	25. No Sign of Almost Anyone

**I am finally planning these things just before writing them! That should improve the course of events slightly.**

**Also, I've planned the next memories, the epilogue and almost all of the sequel! I might be looking too far ahead, but hey. This is successful and I don't want it to die just yet.**

**Keep an eye out for my New Year's present to you: the dream behind my name! Of course I'll improve it from my dream diary XD**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

My eyes open, and I look at my surroundings. It appears that I just woke up, because I'm back in my room. But why would my head hurt if I only hit it against a rock in a dream?

Oh, right. I fell head-first off of my bed. That explains things.

I thrash around groggily to get out of the tangle of a mattress. It works, and I get to my feet, wincing as my head throbs. The time on my alarm clock doesn't read 5:12 for once, since I woke up of my own accord, but 7:29 instead. Maybe these numbers have some significance, but I'm too tired to really think about it right now.

I look over to the sleeping bag next to my bed. Empty. Come to think of it, the house is a bit too quiet as well. Did Romania and Prussia leave?

It would probably be a good idea to investigate, so I decide to leave my room. As soon as I open the door, I bump into Fialina.

"Fialina!" I exclaim. "Have you seen Romania or Prussia anywhere?" I ask, before adding "Or Emmakala, for that matter?"

"Well," she begins, looking down sorrowfully at the ground, "Emmakala is still nowhere to be seen. As for Romania, he woke up at the normal time your alarm goes off, even though I silenced it as soon as it began. He looked really," she moves her hands frustratedly while searching for the right word, "panicked. He asked me for some more soporific fairy dust, and I sprinkled some over him so that he would fall asleep again."

"So where is he?" I cut in, slightly panicky.

"I'm getting to that!" she replies, before continuing. "Prussia got a call from Romania's boss and ordered a taxi to take them both home. He tried to wake him up, and I couldn't stop him because he can't see me."

I begin to fear the worst. What if he'd been in the middle of saving Emmakala? Would she be trapped there forever?

"Luckily, though, he failed in waking him up." I sigh in relief. "He gave Romania a piggy-back out of the house and into the taxi; I haven't seen either since."

I nod and thank her for the information. "In which case, can I have some more of that soporific fairy dust? I might need to save Emmakala myself..."

"Oh, sorry Arthur, but I used the last of it with Romania's second dosage. I'm afraid I'll need to ask Gwimiri to send some more from Dricien's factory."

"How long would that take?" I ask, slightly impatiently. Patience may be a virtue, but when someone might suffer if you take your time, it really doesn't matter.

"If I alerted her on and went to collect the dust myself, I'd give it about twelve hours?"

I almost cry out in anguish; twelve hours is too long! Emmakala would be in severe pain by then, and maybe Ruhtra would have... no, I don't want to think about it!

"As many dosages as you can carry comfortably, please," I tell her anyway, and she nods, returning to her drawer-bedroom, presumably to send a message to Gwimiri.

I return to my room, and climb back into bed. Pulling the covers off of the floor and onto the bed, I snuggle down into the warmth and attempt to fall asleep.

But I can't, out of worry for Emmakala.

I groan at the irony of the situation. This is just frustrating, not being able to sleep because of worry for someone who I can only save by falling asleep! And the cycle continues.

Tossing and turning in bed to get into a comfortable position - left side, right side, staring at the ceiling, face-down on the pillow, foetal position... everything! Nothing works. I'm simply not tired.

I throw off the duvet in frustration and head over to the window instead. The spring-green sunlight, tinted in colour by the curtains, is almost comforting. I pull away the curtain and look out of the window at my own back garden, other back gardens in the same street, and the forest beyond the sprawling town.

A faint glimmer of light flutters toward said forest - Fialina. I smile, sending her my blessings on her journey. Then I climb onto the wide windowsill and sit with my back to one side of the window frame, my eyes never leaving her. She goes out of sight behind a fence, and I stare out of the window aimlessly instead.

My thought track returns to last night, and I try to force back the painful memories I relived. I fail miserably, and soon find myself blubbering slightly. The scenes keep coming to mind, of all the bloodshed and death which accomplished so little... so little.

I bite my lip, trying once more to think about something else. Ruhtra's time-travel story comes to mind again, and I think over the events of it, judging their likelihood.

"...we were woken up by one of your kind," I mutter, quoting Ruhtra directly. My eyes widen in realisation, and I repeat the phrase a few more times in shock. I voice the unspoken question.

"Who?"

It wouldn't be me, obviously. America might, because of his alien obsession and those... creatures look slightly alien, maybe? No, that's ridiculous. The French git wouldn't do anything, realistically, would he?

I run through some more possibilities in my mind, dismissing most of them as stupid.

"Switzerland would be protecting his sister from them, be they dangerous or harmless. Italy would be too busy making pasta. Romano and Spain would be too busy... uh, never mind."

I give up and resolve to ask Ruhtra if he's feeling cooperative. Aea would probably throw an onion at my head again.

That thought evokes a funny mental image: Aea standing in front of around two hundred cloaked figures with yellow eyes, holding up an onion the same colour as her eyes, yelling at the top of her voice "ALL NAMUHKIND SHALL BOW DOWN TO THE MIGHTY ONION!"

I chuckle slightly, before realising that that onion was actually pretty painful. I should take it seriously. Still, heh. I shall take the onion very seriously (sarcasm).

Wait a second... Aea. Which country is she supposed to be? I'd better make a mental note to ask Ruhtra that question as well, or perhaps Aea herself, whilst she isn't worshipping a bulbous layered vegetable.

I resume staring out of the window. Everyone seems so happy and the world feels so... alive. People greet each other politely and have short conversations in the street, creating a dynamic and friendly atmosphere.

Unlike during the Battle of the Somme, isn't it?

Dammit. Stupid thoughts.

I shift back to correct my posture, since staying perfectly still would've offered me no distractions. I flick the curtain gently to free myself from simultaneous pain and boredom. Repeating the action several times, I find a strange fascination in the curtain's flowing movements, how indifferent it is to the world.

A strange, very faint scraping noise breaks my overly-philosophical thoughts and I pause. I pull the curtain aside entirely and see a small piece of paper on the floor, clearly torn out of a notebook and hastily folded in half. I pick it up and see my name in Romanian - _Anglia_ - scrawled on the front.

I unfold the paper curiously and begin to read the writing enclosed.


	26. Chasing the Spark

**I've proofread this, it's just that some of the words are in Romanian. Don't think that I'm THAT lazy. **

**One of my Christmas presents came late... PAINT IT WHITE :D yayyyyy! I watched it with my dad. Awkward naked England. Awkward Ukraine. Awkward Japan/Italy bath scene.**

**But nvm. STILL AWESOME :D**

**Second update in one day! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Alo, Anglia. I hope that you will find this note. _

_After you gave me the signal and I disappeared from your sight, I ran down the tunnel. I narrowly avoided falling down a hole a few metres deep, so hopefully you avoided it too. Just be careful._

Well, it's a bit late for that certain piece of advice. But if it's only a few metres deep, I'll be able to climb out of it once I fall asleep again.

_On my journey, I found Rimidalv. At least, I think it was him. He's the one with the red cloak, corect? Anyway, he blocked my path, so I resorted to violence and hit him in the face._

_My hand still burns in the real/waking world. Once again, be VERY careful._

Alright, so Aea was telling the truth... wait, injuries there are reflected in the real world? Then again, my head hurts, but that's because I fell out of my bed. So did he stick his hand in the oven or something?

_I used magie instead. He fell to the floor and I abandoned him. Once I got to Emmakala, she was crying from the pain. I rushed to her side and she looked up at me hopefully. You know how careless these creatures are? The key was just out of her reach, to tease her, no doubt. They clearly weren't expecting me._

_I grabbed the key and unlocked the handcuffs, but she was too weak to fly. I picked her up and carried her away from the dead end, but I had no idea how to escape._

_She asked me to put her down because my movements were making her wrists hurt more, so I complied and hid her behind a rock. I continued to look for an exit and I soon heard a female voice from behind me, saying "Hello, Vladimir."_

"Aea," I mutter. She did say she'd seen Romania.

_I began to turn around to see who said this, but I was soon torn from the world._

_I woke up and immediately regretted putting Emmakala down, because who knows, she might have transported back with me._

She also said that Emmakala wasn't going anywhere. Does she know where she's hidden now?

_So I just wanted to leave you a note as a warning. I don't know who she is, but I could almost feel how dangerous she is. Also, keep an eye out for Emmakala, unless Ruhtra or someone else found her._

_I'm going to go back there now. Hopefully this information will be useful in some way._

_România._

"Hang on a tick," I whisper to myself, re-reading the note. "She was crying from the pain," I quote, dropping the paper in shock.

Emmakala never cries.

I hastily shove the curtains aside and leap down from the windowsill, returning to my bed. I dive back into it but, obviously, I'm not tired. I can't sleep.

Cursing in frustration, I throw off the covers and sit upright, my legs slung over the side of the bed. I rest my elbows on my thighs and my head in my hands. No... there's no way I can just leave her there! There has to be something!

I jolt upright, realising that there is something. It's unlikely, but maybe I can see her in the dream world...

"Lá Eallwealdan! Mé íewaþ Emmakala!" I cry out, and that little red spark appears again. I stare at it as it shakes in confusion, and my hope begins to diminish. I didn't think it would work anyw-

The spark turns to green and its shaking speeds up, almost excitedly. It speeds out of the window and I follow it with little hesitation. I slide down the banister and don't even stop to put my shoes on as I fling the door open. Obviously I make sure to close it.

I wince as my bare feet meet stone paving, but thoughts of finding Emmakala convince me to continue. The spark flies past overhead, luckily not at full-out sprinting speed, but I still have to run to catch up with it anyway.

People turn to stare at me, and I suddenly think of the situation.

I'm not running through the streets in pyjamas, right? Worse, shirtless? I look down at my clothes and find that I have no reason to be paranoid; I didn't change out of my clothes before going to sleep last night - all that's different is that I'm not wearing a jacket or tie, just a shirt. Bloody hell, it's cold.

Better than nothing, I guess.

My feet hurt with each gravelly step, but I push on. No pain, no gain, after all. I make sure not to crash into anybody on my path.

The spark leads me past the edge of town and into a field. I sigh at the welcome change of terrain, and notice for the first time that my breath is visible. Okay, scratch it being cold, it's bloody freezing.

I pant slightly as my shins begin to ache from the constant running, now worsened by the uphill gradient. There's only one field and one meadow, but in my panic they blend together, and I don't notice that I've entered the meadow until I'm halfway through it, kicking tall grass aside.

Forcing myself to keep on going, I see the spark speeding up slightly, teasingly, as it flies into the forest. I reach the trees a few seconds later and stop to locate the spark. I can barely see it among the trees. Once I catch sight of it, I continue my run, now a sprint considering the time I just lost.

I wince as the sticks of the forest floor prod my feet, especially after each time I jump over a tree root. Maybe I could've stopped to put on some shoes; this is hindering my progress.

To my delight, the spark enters a plain, grassy clearing, like heaven to my soles. I watch as the spark dives behind a tree root and fails to resurface.

I drop to my knees in exhaustion, never taking my eye off of the aforementioned tree root lest I lose track of it.

Well, I feel pathetic. Emmakala's probably in danger, and I'm just kneeling here, ignoring what might be a secret passage into the dream world.

An image comes to mind from the spell: Emmakala's sleeping, but with a troubled look on her face and blisters on her wrists. I grimace. It seems that Romania was right about injuries being evident in both worlds.

I push against the ground to get up on my feet, and then I head over to the tree root. Lo and behold, Emmakala's there in the same state. So what if it isn't a gateway to the other world - I found her! I smile joyfully before looking more closely at her injured wrists, and my smile drops. I lift one wrist carefully and her face scrunches in agony, so I lay it down again.

Deciding that she would be far more comfortable on grass, I carefully pick her up and rest her down in the middle of the clearing.

I notice again the aching pain in my shins and how worn out I am, and lie down beside her. An idea occurs to me - I just made myself tired running, didn't I? So maybe I could fall asleep and rescue Emmakala! It feels weird thinking that, considering she's right here.

Wrapping a protective arm around her, I attempt to fall asleep. In this tired state, it doesn't take too long before I feel my eyes slipping closed, sparing little thought as to the fact that I'm on the ground, outside, in the middle of a forest.

Oh well. I'm too weak to return home now, and so's Emmakala. Might as well.


	27. Look Who's Returned

**2079 (namuhs' creation) - 1666 = 413 :o HOMESTUCK IS EVERYWHERE.**

**Just realised I accidentally quoted SakuraMoriChan in this chapter...oh well :P**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Thus, I return to the dream world, and the hole I'm in is indeed only a few metres deep.

I clasp some rock jutting out from the wall in one hand, and find another suitable handhold with the other. By feeling the lower wall with one foot then the next, I find footholds and begin to scale the wall.

My foot slips suddenly, and for one terrifying moment I think I'm about to fall again and return to the waking world. The sole of my foot begins to sting with a sharp pain, cruelly reminding me how I'm not wearing shoes. I stiffen my grip on the wall and manage to stay on it. As I regain confidence, I return my foot to its foothold and climb up further.

I throw my forearms over the edge once I reach the top of the hole, and scramble out. Dusting my clothes off - it appears that they're always the same clothes I'm wearing in real life - I utter the visibility spell yet again, and the spark I've become used to the sight of searches for Emmakala for the third time.

Soon enough, it dashes behind a rock, sending back the image of Emmakala, in very much the same state as I saw her previously, except this time, awake.

The spark doesn't return to me, and I briefly think back to how it did return to me originally. It's probably because these last two times, she's been close by, but she was far away earlier. That makes sense.

I move round, behind the rock, and Emmakala doesn't notice my arrival until I call her name.

"Arthur!" she breathes weakly and relievedly at the same time. "Wh-where did Vladimir go?"

"He woke up," I reply, finding that I can't tear my gaze away from the hurtful blisters. "I'm going to wake you up, okay? First, please, tell me what happened," I request.

"W-well, while you and Fialina were absorbed in your conversation at the bakery, I felt a... magic force pulling me under the table. I tried to scream, but," her voice becomes more anguished and quiet from telling this tale, "I couldn't. I was dragged along the floor but nobody had the Sight; they couldn't see or help me. It was terrifying... and then I remember suddenly being in this wretched cave," she says with a tone of hatred in her voice.

"Wow. I-I'm sorry..." I stammer, not having anything better to say to console her. "Do you know why you're here?"

She still looks completely traumatised, almost shuddering. "Arthur, I," she shakes her head weakly, "I'm not sure. I think that they wanted to give you a reason to come back..."

"Don't worry," I say to her, smiling in an attempt to comfort her slightly. "I'm going to wake you up now, so you'll be in the middle of a forest. You'll see me, asleep, next to you; don't wake me up, okay?" I ask her, and she nods. "I doubt you'll be weak in the real world, but your injuries," I point to her wrists, "will still be there, unfortunately."

She nods again. "Uh, so, what do you want me to do?"

I shrug. "I don't know. You could go home if you want - Mint and Uni should be there to keep you company. In fact, if you go there, tell them I'm sorry I haven't talked to them for a while," I add. "But I digress."

"Mint and Uni?" she reiterates. "What about Fialina?" Her relieved smile drops. "Th-they didn't get her too, right?" she asks in a shocked whisper.

"No, no," I reply, and she laughs nervously at her own paranoia. "She's safe, and getting some more soporific fairy dust from Gwimiri and Dricien." I pause. "At least, she's probably okay..."

She stops laughing as we make eye contact, silently conversing in panic. I decide to break the silence.

"Can you do me a favour, Emmakala, and make sure she's okay?"

In response, she nods and smiles. I return the smile and whisper the sleeping spell: "Beslæp."

Her half-lidded eyes close and she fades, returning to the waking world. I continue to smile, thinking of how she's out of Ruhtra's grasp, how she's free. Then she'll find Fialina, and everything will return to normal.

My smile drops. But will it? Even if they're safe, I'll still be coming back to these dreams every time I sleep... I'll never be able to rest.

"Well, look who's returned," Ruhtra teases. I turn around to see him standing there. Wow is he stealthy

"Why hello there, Ruhtra," I reply, adding an unpleasant intonation to his name. I walk around slowly, beginning to circle him, and he does the same.

"Are you thinking of going somewhere?" he asks mockingly. "You're going nowhere. You're never going to escape these dreams, every single night." His cloak hovers only just above the floor, moving dust but never being covered in it. His feet aren't visible.

"The only way to escape is waking up, which would be by falling asleep here," I state matter-of-factly. My foot scrapes on a small, sharp stone on the floor.

"Correct," he says with feigned impression. "But then you fall asleep again, and re-appear here."

"Tell me this, then. Why do you never disappear from this world, when Romania, Emmakala and I do?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he sneers. "We namuhs own the realm of sleep. Naturally, we never fully leave it, even when awake." His left heel fails to reach the ground as he steps on the edge of the hole, and he almost falls into it, but quickly regains his balance. I smirk at him being taken down a notch.

"Since you're feeling cooperative," I continue, taking the upper ground, "I have some more questions for you. Which country is Aea a clone of?"

"There was no DNA available for any of the deceased nations: Rome, Ancient Egypt... Britannia," he says with a copious lack of respect.

I feel my eyes glowing in rage. "How dare you speak about my m-"

He cuts me off by speaking in an obnoxious, highly exaggerated voice. "ANYWAY, what the scientists did was extract all of the older nations' memories from other nations, and compile them into one clone. They named her Aeagnap, which sounds stupid so she shortened it to Aea. Simple as."

I forget about my anger for a second. "Is there even a personification for Pangaea? It broke up billions of years ago!" He stops walking and stares at me; I could swear he's rolling his eyes. "Anyway, you can't talk about my mother like that!" I shout, my eyes glowing to a level which is almost tear-inducing with the searing feeling.

"Oh, and what'll you do?" he asks teasingly.

I begin to roll up my sleeve, as is typical for such improper brawls. This is an exception to my policy of propriety, however. I remind myself not to punch him in the face as I prepare to launch myself at him.

"You're going to get what's coming to you, you son of a b-"

A painful whack to the head interrupts my speech, and my eyes stop glowing. I rub the back of my head and turn around to see my attacker.

Aea picks up a multicoloured onion off of the floor, saying "That's quite enough from you, thank you."

"Always with the onion," I tease. "What is it, a magical object that gives namuhkind life?"

"I would rather you didn't pry into matters that do not concern you," she replies levelly, turning the onion over and over. I finally decide to register what namuhs' hands look like... oh, well, her sleeves cover her hands. That really answers a question for me.

"Stop taking it so bloody seriously! It's just an onion!" I laugh.

"You are in no position to speak to me in such a manner," she says, still maintaining a calm and level tone. Talk about a superiority complex.

"And what, pray, puts you in a position to say so to me?" I retort, but she ignores me completely.

"Ruhtra, initiate memory hexcode 5-9-39d," she commands, before departing wordlessly.

I look towards Ruhtra in confusion. "You heard her," he remarks. "I'm going to force you to re-live another memory."

I swallow my fear. "What does that code mean? It sounded like hexadecimal to me."

"It is hexadecimal, indeed," he responds. "In case you can't do the math yourse-"

"Maths," I cut in. "How can you claim to be a clone of me if you speak in American English?" I almost shudder at the phrase. "Stupid git thinks he can mangle my language..." I mutter.

"I did it to annoy you of course. You're so short-tempered. 39d is 925 in decimal."

"I don't recall anything happening on that date," I remark.

"925 BTR, not your stupid Common Era or Anno Domini or whatever. But to clarify, you'd most likely call it 1666."

"S-sixteen... sixty...six..." I echo, stunned, mouth agape. "You wouldn't dare..."

"Oh, I would," he says scornfully, as a faint smell of burning reaches my nose. He's already begun the transition.

I stare at his eyes, pleading silently to not do this, but he soon appears to be engulfed by flames as I get dragged into the memory.

The Great Fire of London, 2-5 September 1666. About three-quarters of London burnt to the ground. With London being my heart, I was hit with the same intensity all over, but especially inside my chest. I wince, remembering the pain.

I refocus on the flames in front of me. My heart, on fire.


	28. 5-9-39d

**Writer's block -_- gahhhh.**

**I had a resolution to stop procrastinating so much, and I've already broken it. DAMMIT HOMESTUCK FANDOM! XD**

**Well, despite being under the influence writer's block and laziness, I managed to brainstorm some imagery for this before I finally began writing it. I really want to get as much of it done of this as I can before school restarts.**

**Enjoy!**

**(and start honing your puzzle + mathematical skills for the (ante)penultimate chapter...)**

* * *

All around me, flames are moving, dancing to music composed of screams and crackling. The buildings which had housed so many are now chasing out families. Mothers carry their tearful small children, who have no idea what's going on. Others who have already escaped are looking on, just as I am, or valiantly diving into the blaze to rescue others.

I stare so deeply into the fire that my eyes begin to tear up, following the flames from their bases to the vast night sky beyond. The choking grey smoke, peppered with orange sparks, almost entirely drowns out the deep indigo of midnight.

Why had I been so stupid, agreeing to build houses out of cheaper, easier, flammable material?!

My surroundings sharpen within a heartbeat as they enter my past self's vision. He coughs loudly from the smoke, leaning on a citizen of London for support.

If I remember correctly, I'd tried to save as many people as possible, and I did rescue quite a few of them, but then I overdid it. I ended up inhaling too much smoke. So, instead of rescuing someone else, I was rescued.

I make my way over to the woman and myself. He keeps making half-hearted struggles to return to the fire, but she stops him each time.

"No! I have to save them!" he cries out. "It's my duty as a-!"

"Shhh," she coos, as one would to a child having a tantrum. "You can't go back in there, or you'll die. Do you understand?" Her voice is strained, as if she'd said this several times. Which she had, I suppose...

"I can't just let them die!"

She shushes him again, but fails to make any other response. I guess she couldn't comfort me any more. I can be pretty stubborn sometimes.

My past self cranes his neck backwards, throwing out one arm futilely, reaching back like he could rescue someone using telekinetic powers. However, he quickly withdraws his hand, gasping in pain. It flies to his chest instead.

You see, even if I wasn't making direct contact with the flames, I felt them all over. But since the actual fire was in my capital city, my heart suffered more than any other part of me. (If Big Ben had been built at that point...ouch.)

I can only look on helplessly, being unable to free my past self from torment. He flinches due to reflex actions to escape the burning pain, but the flaming demons use him as their doormat.

The same flaming demons grinning down at the citizens of London, cackling as they chase the terrified innocents through the streets that had been safe for them their entire lives.

I take in a deep breath, but the air is dry and acrid. A drink would do well to satiate me, I note as I return to concentrating on my former self.

He falls to his knees, still moving jerkily, but it's hopeless. He can't pull himself away from the searing pain. As he is being singed over and over, I can't help but wonder if this is how Ruhtra and the other namuhs felt upon being exposed to the sun.

I wince in hurtful reminiscence as people go over to help him, but he pushes them all away. They flinch from his burning touch. He curls into himself, hugging his forearms as he stares into the ground. He shudders, then tears his arms away to scream his agony to the moon, in an almost lupine howl.

Looking at him - _me_ - is almost enough to make me feel the pain all over again, instead of just recalling it. I feel a tear drop for my past self's sake as he, too, cries.

Forcing myself to look away, I can only see the fierce glare of the ever-growing fire. With the fire-fighting methods of this time, there was little hope of suppressing such power, but there are people combatting the devilish flames all around, with buckets of water.

But the fire's too vast, and nothing happens. The surroundings are slightly unclear as I'd been too focused on my own pain to take everything in properly, but it'd been burnt into my memory nevertheless.

I roll my eyes at my own stupid pun.

I can't do anything but look on in horror as most of London burns to the ground before my eyes. The months that had been spent building every house, every shop, everything, were undone in just three days. Only a few people died, true, but so much damage was done otherwise.

Supports I'd watched people building crack as the flames relentlessly smash into them; roofs collapse, crashing down and only fanning more oxygen into the fire, causing it to flare up with a powerful _fwoohm_.

My mouth hangs open, and some smoke drifts inside, lashing at my tongue, red-hot and fierce. I cough violently, and the feeling begins to subside. My throat burns scratchily - some water would really be appreciated around now. In fact, not just for myself, but some water to put out the fire.

"If only it'd rained back then," I whisper, eyes wide as I gaze into the taunting flames. "If only it'd rain now."

"Rain?" echoes a booming voice in my head.

"Shut up, Ruhtra," I hiss, though he'll probably ignore me entirely.

"I'll give you some rain," he continues, predictably ignoring me, "another time. It's time for you to wake up now."

"Showing some mercy, are we?" I say mockingly. Imagine if these people could see me right now, how ridiculous I'd look talking to myself. Well, it's not like I've never been accused of that (stupid non-believers).

"Not quite," are the last two words I hear before...

* * *

My eyes flutter open. I lift my head and glance around me, wiping the cool dew from my cheek. The calm greens and browns of the forest, along with birds chirping, makes it seem as if the screeching hell of centuries, and in my head, minutes, ago had never happened.

I sit up achily and smile at the beautiful day surrounding me. A patch on the ground is clear from the typical morning frost; my body heat must've melted it.

I shiver and reach out for a duvet to cover myself, before realising I don't have one. My toes clench and unclench to nurse feeling back into themselves, bare from my earlier hurry. Letting out an experimental breath, I conclude that it's below freezing.

I cross my arms, wishing I'd spent one second to grab a jacket, at least. It's simply not respectable to be wearing a crumpled shirt and...no tie? Coupled with a lack of shoes, I must look a total mess.

Something comes to my attention - my throat is still dry from the dream. If I remember correctly, there's a stream at the edge of this clearing.

I listen out for the stream, and then crawl tiredly towards the sound of running water. I mentally ask a tree if I can take one of its leaves to use as a cup, and then remove the biggest leaf I can find.

"Thank you," I add aloud. It's been a tradition for me since my pagan days to ask a plant's permission before breaking off part of it. Just some respect for nature. I'm not crazy.

I fold the edges to make a sensible cup, and scoop up some water.

"Béo unbléohu," I whisper, sweeping one hand above the water. The spell cleanses it and I gulp down the water, savouring the coolness. The leaf, however, is too small to hold enough water to satisfy my burning thirst. I scoop up more water, drink it greedily, and dip the leaf into the brook again, until it becomes a constant cycle.

I finally place the leaf down and let out a quenched sigh. When was the last time that water tasted so good?

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I've been too occupied with rescuing Emmakala recently to eat anything. Realising Emmakala's absence, I panic until I remember that I sent her to check if Fialina's okay.

Knowing how unfair it'd be to steal some poor creature's food, or how idiotic it'd be to eat something poisonous, I decide to head back home. I stand up and curl my toes on the frozen ground, shivering. It'd be a good idea to get home before I freeze.


	29. My Neighbour is a Ghost

**Guess what! The last of my late Christmas presents finally arrived! And it is...A HETALIA T-SHIRT :D (featuring all of the Axis + Allies, as well as Austria and Prussia, which makes it automatically ten times more awesome! But we all know that.)**

**I'm wearing it now, actually. If only our annual mufti day at school hadn't already been and gone... :( Oh well, there'll be school trips. :D**

**England said at one point during his version of Marukaite Chikyuu, or maybe another song, idk, that his neighbour's a ghost. So...**

**Gahhhh, school starts tomorrow... I'll do my best to make sure there's at least one update per week!**

**Enjoy~ **

* * *

After I re-enter the town, everyone's staring at me, in either bemusement or scorn. No wonder, considering how disheveled I look. If Emmakala hadn't been at risk, I would be scolding myself repeatedly for having done something so stupid.

It's good that I've had so long to learn the streets' layout like the back of my hand. I've lived here since my house in London was destroyed in... 1666.

Damn it. Why can I only think of that memory?

I remember that my boss, at the time, sent me here so that I wouldn't have to see that destruction every day. But then I got attached to it. After all, it is peaceful here.

While appreciating the beauty of the area, a flame from someone's lighter catches my eye. I watch as he takes a drag from his cigarette, puffing some smoke into the air. Normally, I'd be disgusted by this (whenever my brother comes over, it takes hours to get rid of the odor), but today I can only find it painfully reminiscent.

I turn into an alleyway on my right, managing to maintain a stiff upper lip. After all, I am in public. Most of the people here have seen me before and will see me again; I'd never live it down. If only they remembered me for something other than my eyebrows...

The hubbub of the high street quietens as I trace the dark, narrow passages. I know these paths so well, I could probably go through them drunk. Actually, it's possible that I have done, I just can't remember.

A sharp object stabs my foot suddenly, and I look down to the ground, seeing a broken bottle of some kind. The all-too-familiar stench of alcohol makes the situation clear. Okay, on second thoughts, it's likely that I made my way through here drunk.

I take my foot off of the ground, leaning on the wall for support, and carefully pick out the pieces of glass. Another bad consequence of drinking so often, I suppose.

I keep a cautious eye trained on the ground, just in case, until I reach my house again. Emerging from the alleyway, I notice that... oh, okay, I did remember to close the door. That dramatic pause was for nothing.

My heels scrape against the steps leading to my door, making me wince. Once I'm on the porch, I realise something.

The door's locked. I feel the outsides of my trouser pockets in a panic, but obviously, my keys aren't there.

"You've got to be kidding me," I whisper to myself. I don't even have a spare key hidden outside; after I entered my house, when Romania was pointing a gun at me, I left them inside. I'm pretty sure of it, but I decide to check anyway.

I walk around the side of the house, to my back garden. Come to think of it, I haven't had much of a chance to relax recently, and those roses smell so welcoming...

"Why not?" I mutter, choosing to slow down the pace of life for a while. It's not like I'm in a hurry or anything. Last time I checked my calendar, there weren't any big events happening until around Christmas time, so in... wait, how long? What's the date? Lord, I'm losing track of time!

I pull back one of the chairs at the table, shivering against the cold metal. The table, however, is wooden, and is only slightly cool to the touch as I rest my forearms on it, sitting down. Perhaps I should put that pirate shirt on top of this one, since there's no other clothing accessible.

"Hi Artie!" calls a sudden voice. I spin around quickly (out of alertness, not fear, just to clarify), and catch sight of my next-door neighbour, Elizabeth Clarke.

She hovers towards the other chair and sits down, her immortally-fourteen-year-old face looking up at me with her usual jokester's grin. Her skin gives off an eldritch, white glow. Her torn Victorian skirt flows down to the floor, a very slight shade of phantasmal blue darker than her blouse, which is also torn at the sleeves. The clothes she starved to death in over a century ago. If I hadn't banished her parents, who were still abusive towards her, even as ghosts, to the underworld, she wouldn't be smiling right now.

"Nice to see you, Liz," I respond. "How's life treating you?"

I instantly cringe, regretting my choice of words. "Argh, sorry, I mean..."

"You hardly look presentable," she cuts in, smirking. "Tell me, what had you running out of the house in such a state earlier on today?"

"Long story," I reply. "Although, if you must know, Emmakala was kidnapped."

"Really?" she asks, her mirthful smile dropping. At least some people in this world don't think that 'the atmosphere' is a book. "Why did you come back here without her, then?"

"Oh, she's perfectly fine, I assure you. I sent her to find Fialina, and make sure that she didn't get kidnapped as well."

"That's great, then!" she replies, smiling playfully. Her facial expression soon returns to concern. "But who kidnapped her?"

I sigh, leaning slightly further into the back of the chair. "Ruhtra." At her expression of confusion, I explain him to her. "He's... well, he _claims_ to be a clone of myself from the future, who was synthesised using a mixture of science and magic, as a vessel for my memories. No big deal," I add sarcastically.

"So is he like Atsu and Selucreh, then?" she asks nonchalantly, making me look at her in surprise.

"Who and wh- wait, those sound like backwards names. What do they look like?"

"They're ghosts as well! Like me!" she chirps. "Though, they're kind of strange... they both insist on wearing weird hoods all the time. I've never seen their faces, apart from these weird, glowy eyes..."

"Can you take me to them?" I interrupt. "Excuse my rudeness, it's just that I have... matters to discuss with them."

"Oh, uh, sure! They're in my house at the moment. We can talk to them now, if you like."

"That sounds perfect."


	30. At Liz's House

**Blehdibleh. School. Homework. Maths mock. My apologies. There isn't really more to say on the matter, heh.**

**More about Liz? You got it! I think I'm making myself depressed with her backstory...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Liz floats ahead of me, disappearing into her house by floating through the door.

Somebody broke the window by the door about a couple of weeks ago. The remaining glass is still poking out from the frame, and it's probably still on the floor inside as well. Just like most of the other windows. In fact, the entire house has been neglected. Ivy crawls up mouldy bricks on all sides of the house; each wooden step leading to her door creaks as I step on it.

However, Liz says she likes it that way, and doesn't let me sort out the house for her, no matter how many times I offer to. She doesn't let me banish her to whichever other world lays beyond the grave, either, which is strange considering that almost every ghost I met hates their li- ahem, death. At least I sent her ghostly parents there when they died.

They died of natural causes, unlike their daughter. Ever since their continued abuse led to her death, I wanted revenge on them. I felt the need to kill them, but I'm no murderer. Plus, I would never have got away with it...

"Artie! Are you coming in or what?" she calls out impatiently from inside the house, derailing my train of thought.

"Bloody hell, Liz. I can't fly through walls," I mutter, standing on the porch.

She pokes her head through the door, bringing it unnervingly close to my face. I open my mouth to ask her if her parents ever taught her manners, but they only taught her pain. I really shouldn't bring back bad memories - that's always been one of my long-lasting rules of etiquette.

If Ruhtra really is a clone of me, though, shouldn't he think the same thing?

"The door isn't locked. Honestly, you should remember that. The lock got knocked out decades ago!" she giggles, poking me on the nose. I shiver at her eerily cold touch, even colder than the weather right about now.

She drifts back inside, and I push the door open gently, lest it come off its hinges. Inside, Liz's house is still as decrepit as ever. Cobwebs fill every corner, and hordes of dust particles fill the air, highlighted by sunlight flowing in through the window.

Carefully shutting the door behind me, I notice that yes, the pieces of shattered glass are still on the floor, making it difficult to navigate with bare feet. An icy wind blasts through the window, shaking the torn curtain. I wish I stopped at home to grab a coat and shoes first...

Liz peeks around the doorway at the end of the corridor, beckoning me to get into the living room and stop looking around everywhere. Then again, I can't keep a lady waiting. I cautiously step around the shreds of glass and holes rotted in the floorboards to her living room.

A ghostly voice groans in frustration, but it sounds nothing like Liz. As I enter the room, I see a namuh ghost tossing and turning on the sofa, clearly distraught. I look to Liz for an explanation.

"Um, this is Selucreh!" she says, laughing nervously.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few qu-" I begin saying to Selucreh, but he interrupts me with his ghastly cries. It appears he hasn't yet noticed my arrival.

"Why?" he whispers. "Why why why why WHY WHYYYYYY?!" His voice raises until he cries out agonisingly. "Why can't I sleep?" he moans.

"Selucreh, please calm down!" Liz pleads.

"I can't calm down! I have to go back home! Aea will surely kill me for my failure!"

"She would've done if Greece hadn't killed you first," she mumbles, loud enough for me to hear due to her proximity.

I stand around awkwardly throughout their conversation, and notice another head appear from behind the sofa. That must be the other namuh she mentioned - Atsu, is it?

"What was that?" Selucreh asks, ceasing his movements for a second to look up at Liz curiously.

"Nothing!" she giggles. "Anyway, now that you're both present and quiet - well, Atsu, you're always quiet - we have a guest."

Both namuhs look to me and I fold my arms, feeling even colder under their stares. I look from one to another; nobody speaks.

"Uhm, does anyone want tea?" Liz asks to break the silence. "Okay, I'll get some!" she adds before anyone gets a chance to reply, floating into the kitchen.

The silence continues. Well, a casual ghostly tea party is unlikely to go well.

"I guess I'll have to break the silence," I sigh. "So tell me, Selucreh, who-"

"Ruhtra?" he asks, cutting me off.

I glare at him for a couple of seconds as a silent reprimand for his rude interruption.

"No," I mutter, "I'm England."

"Who?" he asks.

Heh, I guess this is how Canada feels.

"Most people probably call me Britain," I add, but I'm still met with only a blank expression. "Great Britain? The UK? Bloody hell, come on, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?!"

He shakes his head at each name and title.

"Albion? Iggy? Erm, I'm running out of ideas here..."

Wait a second, Ruhtra always refers to me as Arthur, doesn't he?

"As a last resort, would you happen to recognise the name Arthur Kirkland?" I ask exasperatedly.

Selucreh's eyes widen, and so do Atsu's. Neither moves, until the latter sinks down behind the sofa and disappears from sight.

The former, still lying on the sofa, never taking his eyes off of me, moves cautiously to an upright, seated position.

"A-A-Arthur?"

"Yes, that's me," I reply in confusion.

His eyes seem to get even wider, and he suddenly screeches. I cover my ears (ghost screeches are the worst), watching him flip off the sofa backwards, and presumably through the floor behind it.

While I stand there, mouth agape and unable to interpret what just happened, Liz returns with a chipped tray in her hands, on top of which rest a teapot and four mismatched cups.

"I'm ba- where did everyone go?" she asks, her voice dropping from a chirrup after the first two words.

"I don't know!" I reply. "I just said my name, and now they're gone..."

Hang on. They thought at first that I'm Ruhtra. They're terrified of me now. Does that mean Ruhtra was telling the truth?

_"I think I had jet-black hair with red eyes. Not that it matters now."_

That's why they thought I'm him, then. So it's true that he once looked like me, but does that mean the time travel story is true.

_"You hated our existence and believed there was no need for it."_

_"...you spent your days capturing us in our sleep..."_

His voice echoes in my head, speaking of my apparent loathing for namuhkind. Although, it's somewhat understandable as revenge for everything he's done and will do to me.

Actually, it's clear that no matter how clever namuhs may make themselves out to be, they're quite stupid. Emmakala wasn't difficult to rescue, and Ruhtra's causing me to hate him, which would lead to me sending him back in time... if that's true.

_"...you exiled us from that time."_

Wait a tick. Why would I have sent him back in time in the paradoxical first place? Unless the entire timeline already dictated that the namuhs would eventually get sent back in time.

_"I'm not going to send you back in time or anything if that actually happens."_

_"You're not going to stick to your word. I know you won't. Because I'm here, aren't I?"_

My hand starts to twitch with this mental overload, as the other drifts up to instinctively rub away a growing headache.

What happens if I don't send Ruhtra back in time to tell me not to send him back in time?!

A translucent blue hand waves in front of my face, warping the sofa in front of me to a strange shape.

"ARTIE! Are you deaf or something?" Liz yells, so close to my ear that the hand on my head moves down to clamp over my ear defensively.

"Sorry! I was just so deep in thought..."

"About what?" she inquires, pulling her hand back. My eyes follow her hand back to her, as she gives me a curious expression.

"Something that Ruhtra told me. His story seems more likely by the second, but I don't understand how I could really be such a terrible person, or why I would send the namuhs back in time, just to torture m-"

"Will you stop being so cryptic and tell me what's going on already!" she cries out.

I sigh, apologising again. "Without going into too much detail, 'namuhs' are magical creatures who claim, and possibly are, clones of existing nations, which I believe I've already told you. According to Ruhtra, I hated them so much that I had them all imprisoned underground for centuries, and I later sent them back in time."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Is that... so," she mumbles, one hand now holding her chin thoughtfully. She looks at me critically, as if imagining that I would do such a thing. "Which namuhs have you met so far?" she asks. I have the feeling that this'll turn into an interrogation.

"I met Ruhtra first," I begin, "and since then I've met Rimidalv, Romania's clone, Aea, a sort of clone of every deceased nation put together, Selucreh and Atsu... wait, which country is Atsu meant to be a clone of? I don't know of anyone called Usta. Maybe he's like Aea, and changed his name because it sounded ridiculous..."

Liz coughs pointedly. "You're going off the subject," she comments in a sing-song voice.

"But knowing who Atsu is is important to figure out what's going on. If I heard correctly, you said that Greece killed his clone."

"Yeah... where are you getting with this?"

"Did Greece kill Atsu too?"

"Um... I think so," she replies uncertainly.

"I can't shake the feeling that a quick Google search might clear things up, in case the name 'Atsu' has an origin within a certain country."

"Yes, because computers were available in the Victorian era and thus I own one," she deadpans.

"Or we could simply return to my house."

"Or we could simply return to your house," she echoes.

"By the way, could you do me a favour and unlock the door for me?" I ask, laughing self-deprecatingly.

"I guess your old age must be getting to you," she mumbles in a feigned attempt to be discreet.

"You don't have to be so rude about my age," I scold her.

"Fiiiiiiiine," she responds, throwing her hands up in mock surrender, "but I'm not breaking into anyone else's house for you."

"Of course not," I chuckle. "After you."


	31. Arthur Holmes? Or Sherlock Kirkland?

**So, I've been spending too much time planning the sprequel, and nowhere near enough time planning THIS FIC ITSELF. Dammit. I kind of want to skip to his next dream, because I think the whole investigation thing must be boring some of you guys...**

**Oh, well, whatever. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

"Liz! Are you going to unlock the door for me, or just wreak havoc in my house?" I yell, standing outside of my front door. For the record, the temperature hasn't become any warmer, nor my clothes more suitable.

"I'm trying!" a muffled voice replies from inside. "I'm not used to opening doors! Since I became a ghost, anyway. Interacting with objects on this plane works in different ways for different situations."

"Turn the handle," I mutter.

"Geez, do you have to treat me like an idiot? I know that! I just can't get a grip on the handle." She floats back out of the house.

"Well, I guess I never knew that because I've never needed a ghost to open a door for me before," I chuckle. "But you can carry objects, can't you?" She nods. "Would you mind getting my jacket for me?"

"That could be another problem," she comments, raising her shoulders guiltily. "I never really bothered to learn how to drag matter through more matter. I've just been haunting random people. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'll survive," I reply.

"But how are you going to get back inside?" she queries.

I ponder it for a few seconds, before coming up with a solution.

"My keys should be on the kitchen counter. Could you feed them through the letterbox?"

"There's the stroke of genius, typical of the one and only Arthur Holmes!" she replies, shooting two finger-guns at me.

"Or is that Sherlock Kirkland?" I add, completing our little inside joke from one day when I introduced her to my favourite TV programmes.

She giggles, and then floats back into my house. I open the letterbox, and see her approaching with the keys in hand. Through the gap, she passes me my keys, and I thank her.

I unlock the door and shut it behind me. The central heating is still on, and warms me up quickly.

"Right," I say, clapping my hands together and keeping them there, "we've got a name to research."

Liz takes the direct route to my study, speeding off through one of the walls. I roll my eyes, following her along a path that doesn't involve breaking the laws of physics.

I open the door to find her poking at the keyboard, muttering to herself, "how does this newfangled Internet thing work?"

"You sound like you were born over a century ago," I joke, and she steps away from the computer to let me have a go.

I turn on the screen and open Google Chrome, while Liz stares in amazement. I enter "Atsu name origin" into the search bar, and Liz gasps as Google returns the search within one second.

"One would think you'd be used to it by now!" I say to her, clicking on the first link to one of those 'baby name' websites.

I scroll down the page, searching for an answer.

"Ah! Here we go," I exclaim. "It appears to be an Egyptian name."

"What actually is Egypt's name?" Liz asks.

"Gupta, I believe. Which, backwards, would be... Atpug?" I wince. "No wonder he changed it. That name sounds horrible."

I lean back in the chair, stretching my arms. About half a minute passes in silence, until I decide to break it.

"So, Liz," I begin, turning round. I half expect her to have left, but that isn't the case. "Did either of those ghosts tell you anything?"

She seems to snap out of thought. "About what?"

I shrug. "I don't know. How about where they came from, for instance?"

Looking up thoughtfully, she replies, "I don't think they've said anything much, really. They both keep complaining about wanting to sleep and go home. That's all Atsu ever says, anyway, but he doesn't speak too much. As for Selucreh, he also says he wants to see his cats again..." She trails off. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Alright. That's confirmed; they're Greece and Egypt's clones. Do you know any details about their deaths?"

She sticks out her bottom lip a little, shaking her head. "You could always contact either Greece or Egypt and ask them," she suggests.

"Sounds like a plan," I reply, swivelling back to the screen. I open my email account, then hesitate. "Which one do I ask?"

"How would I know?" she replies over-dramatically, bending her arms at the elbows and turning her palms to the ceiling.

"I guess my relations with Greece are slightly better. Talking to ex-colonies is always awkward."

Liz doesn't reply, probably since she can't relate.

I click on the 'new mail' button, and dig Greece's email address out of my contacts list. Supposedly, I'll have to bypass the protocol of not bringing up bad memories to solve this investigation.

* * *

_Subject: Selucreh and Atsu_

_Hello, Greece. May I ask you a few questions?_

_Do you remember that incident at the last World Conference? That was down to me entering the namuhs' dream world. Since then, I've been attempting to wrap my head around the situation. Ruhtra's given me not only horrible memories, but also hints as to his origin. Did Selucreh ever mention anything about being a clone of you from the future?_

_Anyway, I have reason to believe that this has happened to you as well. I've met Selucreh's and Atsu's ghosts, and they were terrified of me to say the least. I'd be interested to know how you killed them. Ruhtra's given me nothing but grief. Any information would be greatly appreciated._

* * *

I re-read the message, to check that I've typed everything I need to say, and click on the 'send' button.

"And now," I think aloud, "we wait." I turn to Liz.

"Fancy a game of chess?"


	32. American Drama Queen

**This was going to get too...uh...'feelsy'. So I added a random quirky moment. :D**

**Btw. I typed this on my new laptop :D :D :D**

**And I freaked out about getting it today only a bit more than I did about Hetalia S5E2 yesterday: ROMANIA'S FIRST ANIME APPEARANCE! (not to mention, ENGLAND'S "tsun" WAS PERFECT!)**

**Okay, I'd better proofread this already, because it's already after 11. Where did all the time go? D:**

**Next chapter's going to have even more feels. I'm warning you now.**

* * *

I close my emails and turn to Liz.

"Since you're here, how about a quick game of chess before Fialina and Emmakala return?" I suggest. "Hopefully," I then add.

"I hope they do return," Liz mutters, looking at the floor with a worried expression. It's uncommon to see her so; she's usually just messing around without a care, terrifying passers-by. I've even overheard some conversations of her, calling her the latest urban legend.

"So do I." I stare up at the ceiling. What if they won't return? What if Ruhtra finds them and captures both of them again?

"I never should have let them leave my sight," I blurt out. Liz looks at me in confusion. "Emmakala got captured by Ruhtra last time because I wasn't paying attention. I failed to protect her."

The word 'failed' echoes in my head. I rotate the chair back to the desk, resting my elbows between the keyboard and myself and my head in my hands.

"A-Arthur?" she stutters, floating closer to me.

"I failed to protect her," I whisper. "I've failed so many times. I failed to stop my people from dying. Failed to stop my empire from falling apart. Failed to prevent wars. I...I've failed so often." I bury my face into my arms, not wanting Liz to see me cry. Ahem, not that I am... for now, anyway. "I didn't even notice that fact fully, not until these dreams started. And now..."

"ARTHUR!" she screeches, making me jump. I look up to see her spectral form beside me. "D-don't say anything like that! Please!"

She's shaking.

"I don't want you to think that way! You can't let this person... this namuh, I mean, get to you! Can't you see that's what he, and the other namuhs, want?" A tear rolls down her face, and she screws her eyes shut. "What happened to keeping a stiff upper lip? Don't all nations have such important decisions to make in times of crisis? I have no idea what it's like to be a country, but I do know that wars are often inevitable. Just, don't, don't..."

She begins sobbing, losing control over her words. Her words, such a radical change from her usual playfulness, burrow deep inside of me.

"Elizabeth? I didn't mean to... I don't want you to... please don't cry," I say, almost wincing at the cheesiness and reworking of my words. I don't consider myself the best at comforting.

I stand up, so that I'm just about taller than her when she's floating, a little lower than usual.

"Don't worry about me. C-come on," I stammer, much to my annoyance, "let's go and meet Fialina and Emmakala on their way back here. Would you like that?" The irony of the situation occurs to me: I'm addressing her like a child when she's physically a teenager and in reality a century old.

Nevertheless, she looks up at me with teary eyes, and nods. I lift a hand to wipe away her tears, but fail to do so. My hand feels nothing physical, just the eldritch cold of unbanished spirits, and I withdraw it awkwardly. She stares at me. The corners of her mouth begin to twitch, and she lets out a giggle at my stupidity.

"Well, that was awkward," I state the obvious, laughing it off.

"You really should know by now that I'm dead!" she reprimands jokily.

We proceed to exchange lines of banter, including previous experiences such as when she accidentally walked in - floated in, on me getting dressed, or when she scared the life out of me whenever she caught me unawares; even when we worked together to terrify America after one of his 'scary' horror fi-

"Did I hear my name?" America shouts obnoxiously, opening the door with such force that it slams into the opposite wall. Liz and I stare at him, mouths agape.

"Oh hey. Talking to yourself again?" he comments nonchalantly. "Hahahahaha! You and your delusions, Iggy. Sometimes I really worry about your mental health."

"W-w-wha..." I stutter. "HOW THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU GET INTO MY HOUSE?!"

"Still haven't sorted out your hair, huh... I thought your days of dying your hair were over! Next thing, you'll tell me you got a tattoo on your..."

"America," I interrupt, "what are you doing in MY HOUSE?"

He shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. "You left your bedroom window open."

"Well, at least you haven't broken anything," I mumble. "You do know that entering through people's windows is a crime, right? Wait, how did you even climb up there?!"

"Whoa, dude, I just wanted to say hello!"

"That doesn't mean it's any less illegal!"

"Awh, c'mon Iggy, it's not like I..."

"Don't call me that," I snap.

His eyes widen dramatically, and he takes a step backward.

"D-d-dude, how are you d-doing that? That's not n-normal!" he stammers, shaking his head rapidly.

"What are you even t- oh, right, the eyes," I mumble, forcing them to stop glowing. But America's already taken off, out of the room. I sigh and walk out of the door to see him sliding down the banister.

"AMERICA, THOSE STAIRS ARE OVER A HUNDRED YEARS OLD!" I yell, and he responds with the most heroic scream possible (sarcasm), dashing out of the door and leaving it wide open.

I facepalm. What went wrong in raising that child? Where did all of my etiquette lessons go?

Making my way downstairs, I hear a voice calling my name.

"Arthur!"

I turn and look back upstairs, before realising that wasn't Liz's voice. It sounded more like... Gwimiri? But she hasn't come to visit in so long, so why would she...

My gaze returns to the door, where a certain green-haired fairy, clad in a red jumpsuit, is floating. Fialina and Emmakala are behind her; they're all carrying sacks of fairy dust.

Liz rushes through the walls to greet Fialina and Emmakala, stating how glad she is that they're alive, and I smile. At least they're safe. I haven't failed. But I'm not going to take that risk again.

"Wow. You really do have only the strangest house guests. What did you do to him?" Gwimiri asks. "You didn't get the handcuffs out, did you?"

"H-how could you suggest anything of the sort!" I hiss.

"Still so easy to fluster," she comments, smirking.

"No, I'm not flustered. This is just the sort of conversation that we shouldn't have in public. Also, nothing of the sort even happened!"

"Haha, I'll take your word for it. So, are we going to get at least a little something for lugging all of this fairy dust out here, or what?"


	33. That Poem You Wrote

**I'm certain I had one more follower on Saturday than I do now :/**

**Okay, to the remaining people, enjoy and don't let this make you too sad. I'm sorry T_T**

**Minor plot twist? Idk. There's going to be another slight plot twist next chapter. :)**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

"After you made such an effort, not rewarding you would be..."

"Improper?" Gwimiri cuts in.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, indeed. Now come inside, all of you, before you freeze!"

Gwimiri, followed by Fialina and Emmakala, fly into the house. I close the door behind them, and the temperature changes noticeably.

"Should I carry those bags for you?" I offer.

"No, it's fine," Fialina replies.

"Where should we leave these?" Gwimiri asks Fialina, who begins to lead her upstairs.

Emmakala, however, doesn't tag along. Instead, she comes up to me, placing the bag of fairy dust in my hand.

"You offered," she murmurs, nodding for me to follow Fialina as well.

"Well, it makes sense to offer, after all. This sack isn't almost my size!" I explain, chuckling lightly. Except Emmakala doesn't join in with the laughter. I open my mouth to ask if she's alright, but she crosses her arms and looks down at the ground: her normal indicator that it'll take a while for her to open up.

"Alright then," I whisper, heading upstairs to store the fairy dust in whichever drawer Fialina keeps the stuff in. Emmakala follows me, staying almost uncomfortably close to my left cheek. For someone who distances herself from everyone most of the time, that's somewhat out of the ordinary.

A light flickers on in one of the rooms, the fairies', Mint's and Uni's bedroom, and it serves to remind me that it's become quite dark outside.

Upstairs, Fialina and Gwimiri have already stashed the fairy dust away and appear to have been waiting for me. As soon as they turn to see me, Emmakala quickly flies a little distance away from me. I place the third bag of fairy dust beside the other two, and close the drawer.

"So, who wants dinner?" I ask.

"You know, Arthur," Gwimiri responds, "Fialina's told me about what you've been through recently. I think that-" Her voice breaks up, as if she's been trying to suppress a laugh. "-you deserve a break. How about we cook for you?"

"Why, you cheeky- um, I mean, that would be splendid. Go ahead," I reply. Gwimiri beckons for us all to follow her downstairs, and we enter the dining room. She and Fialina then disappear into the kitchen.

Emmakala and I remain in the dining room, in silence. I motion for her to come to the table, but she doesn't respond audibly. She just waits for me to sit down first, and when I do so, she follows, sitting in one of the small chairs on the table. Unlike in the café, these chairs don't have long legs to reach down to the floor. In fact, they're from Seychelles's old doll set, but that's not important.

She stares down at the table, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly.

"Emmakala?" I ask. She flinches at her name. "What's the-"

She abruptly flies over to me, extending her arms. She then wraps them around my upper arm, the only part of me she can almost reach around.

Her grip is so tight, I think there'll be red marks from her nails once she pulls away.

"-matter," I finally finish, in shock. She begins sobbing, nuzzling her face into my arm. Between her sobs, I can just about hear some of her muffled speech.

"I don't want Ruhtra to capture me again!"

She sniffs, turning her head to the side to look up at me, and her hair gently brushes my arm. She wipes off her tears with the back of her hand.

"Emmakala, I-"

She interrupts me with one of the last things I'd ever expect her to say.

"Arthur, I'm scared."

Clinging to the fabric of my sleeve, she begins crying into it again, leaving a small, soaked patch. I gently move my other hand up and cup it around her back in a comforting gesture.

"Ruhtra isn't going to get you," I whisper. "He isn't. Not on my watch."

Emmakala stops shuddering constantly with tears, and slowly brings down the fearful outburst she just had.

"Listen to me, Emmakala. You really shouldn't have bottled up this fear. Why did you leave me if you were this scared?"

Her hands move further up my sleeve, until her clinging looks less emotional and more as if she could fall at any moment. Suddenly, I notice her wrists, and the horrible blisters.

"E-Emmakala, why are your wrists st-"

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

Stunned, it takes me a while to reply.

"You don't need to apologise. Just, please, don't suffer in silence anymore. Let someone tend to your wounds," I whisper. "I hate seeing you like this."

"I c-can't let people see me in this w-way..."

"Even you know that's ridiculous," I reply. "Just give me a second to get rid of these blisters..."

"Hálige," I whisper, meaning 'heal up, be healed'. I stroke her wrists gently, and she flinches instinctively at my touch, expecting pain. But instead, her wounds begin to fade away into faint burn marks.

"Th-thank you," she whispers hesitantly. "B-but Ruhtra's still going to f-find me again..."

I shush her. "He's not going to. I'll protect you."

"You won't be able to," she replies, her tone part afraid, part definite. "I mean, I'm not doubting you or anything, but he's going to imprison me again..."

"You'll be fine," I mutter. "You'll be fine."

I stare off into the wall, and neither of us says anything. Now, it's known that each fairy can have a different power, or be a certain type of fairy with a goal to accomplish. However, their fate depends on whether they're prepared to discover and accept this power or goal.

As for Emmakala, she's told me she doesn't know what to do, or what she's able to do. But... could she be able to...

...see the future?

"That poem you wrote," I think aloud.

Emmakala doesn't respond, but she looks up at me expectantly, appearing to know which poem I'm talking about.

"Did you consciously make it into an acrostic poem?"

"I-it was acrostic?" she asks, confused.

"I find that to be too strange a coincidence. How did you get the inspiration for it?" I ask, moving my hand down to rest it on the table.

"I just thought of it randomly at one point," she replies in a low voice, shaking her head in confusion. "I'm not sure where it came from. It came to mind, and I felt that I needed to write it down. And... I don't know why, but I also thought you'd see it at some point soon."

"Emmakala? I think you might be a psychic," I point out. She looks up at me in surprise, as if what I said is incredibly unlikely to be true. "Have you seen anything else?"

She fails to answer for some time, still absorbed in this revelation. In this time, she lets go of my arm, no longer needing solace, and hovers in front of me.

"I haven't really seen anything," she eventually replies. "I've had some hints of approaching events, though."

"Is there anything I should know?" I ask, taken over by curiosity.

She pauses briefly to think. "I really don't think I should tell you too much. You'll try to avoid it, and then fate will often mould your actions towards the outcome anyway."

"Does that mean... you're just going to let Ruhtra capture you?"

"The passive response is often the least painful," she replies, shrugging.

"But he could've killed you last time!" I exclaim, slamming my hand on the table to add some clout to my point. "He bound you in IRON chains, and I can't even begin to imagine how much pain you were in! You're just going to let it happen again?"

"If I'm truly a psychic, then it has to be that way," she mutters sadly, refusing to look me in the eye.

"You can't!" I respond weakly. There's no use arguing with a psychic, even if they're not in full control over their powers.

I can't help but wonder what Emmakala knows. However, it makes sense that she can't tell me.

"Wait, there is one thing..." she mumbles.

"What is it?" I inquire rapidly.

She looks at me directly. "Check your emails. Someone called Hercules should have replied by now."

Hastily, I get up from the table, only pausing to thank her. As I run up the stairs, I hear her yelling something to me, something about expecting astonishing news.


	34. Nobody Torments my (Ex-)Colonies

**I swear I know nothing about Greece's personality, except he loves naps and cats and only seems to get angry about Turkey. But considering his past, he obviously knows how to be violent when needed.**

**Half term has begun *celebration dance*!**

**Enjoy :D**

* * *

_Selucreh...ugh... I'll keep this short, because I'm tired, but I really can't remember how I killed him. You know how much I love my sleep, and he stepped in to make me regret every nap I took. I was just... so angry. I wasn't in a proper state of mind. It's as if I'd been in a trance._

_Wait a second... another namuh? That's not Egypt's. He's been badly affected by those dreams for years. Unfortunately, I don't know where to find his namuh, so I can't make the memories stop._

* * *

I stare at the screen in confusion, as the words slowly sink in.

"How could I have been so stupid?" I cry out, slapping one hand to the side of my forehead.

"Arthur?" asks a voice - Liz. She's still in my house; I didn't even notice. "Are you okay?"

I can feel the weird coldness of a ghostly presence coming up behind me, but I don't turn round, still rereading Greece's words, inscribing them into my mind.

"Why did I so quickly believe that Atsu is Egypt's clone?" I think aloud, in a whisper. Swivelling around in the chair, I face Liz. "He was an imposter all along!"

She blinks in surprise. "Aren't there more things for you to be concerned about?"

"True," I agree, raising a hand to my chin in thought. "But it does mean that one of my former colonies is suffering."

Before she can speak again, not that she appears to know how to reply to that anyway, I stand up from the chair abruptly.

"Nobody touches my colonies," I mutter, heading downstairs. Liz replies with a quick 'good luck' wish, lacking any of her normal jokiness, before diving through the floorboards.

As I walk through the open door into the dining room, I see that Emmakala's still seated at the table alone, so Gwimiri and Fialina can't have finished making dinner yet. She looks up briefly, almost tiredly, to acknowledge me.

"So, what did he say?" she asks in monotone.

"He doesn't know how he killed his namuh-"

"That's a shame," she interrupts with the same monotone in her voice.

"And Egypt's in the dream world too." I continue one sentence into the next, so that she doesn't interrupt again. "According to Greece, he has been for years."

"I'll get the sopor dust," she mutters with a blank expression, gesturing for me to go upstairs.

I open my mouth, either to object or ask her what's wrong, but I suppose that suddenly knowing all of your weird visions meant something, and would happen, is a burden I can't properly imagine. So I comply.

Silence fills the house, except for my footsteps, and faint chatter exchanged between Liz, Fialina and Gwimiri down in the kitchen. With little doubt, they're just catching up on old times, though I'm not sure how they could still have something to talk about after the long journey here.

I climb into bed, instantly noticing the comfort compared to the ground in that forest clearing.

Just as I'm comfortable, Emmakala drifts into the room, her fist clenched tightly around the precious fairy dust. She sprinkles it over my face, and as I feel my eyes drifting closed with weariness, she mutters something.

"I'll see you in a few centuries."

* * *

"Wait!" I call out, once I have the energy, snapping upright to a seated position. My voice echoes back to me, and I look around my surroundings: this cave again, in that same space with light peering through a gap in the rocks, high above my head.

I drop my hand down, only just realising I extended it, balling it into a loose fist. Clutching it with my other hand to my chest, I think about Emmakala's mumblings.

Surely she can't mean… centuries? Does that mean she'll be bound in iron chains, suffering from the searing pain for HUNDREDS of years?!

"Fate will often mould your actions to the same outcome," I mutter. "Often."

I stand up slowly. Perhaps I could stop Ruhtra from capturing Emmakala. Or, failing that, I could free her before she goes through too much pain.

"It's worth a shot," I think aloud.

"What is?" says another, sudden voice. My teeth clench in anger, and I turn slightly to my right as Ruhtra emerges from one of the four tunnels.

"You're not going to capture Emmakala."

"Am I, now? Since you're asleep, you're not going to be able to protect your precious, little friend," he replies, in that same infuriating tone of condescension.

"Don't you talk down to me," I snap back.

"Well, well, well. Trying to embiggen ourselves, are we?" he remarks in amusement.

I seethe. "That isn't a legitimate word, rather a disgrace to the English language."

"Does it look like I care?" He laughs.

"I digress," I mutter through my teeth, "but mark my words. If you do anything to harm Emmakala, or anyone else dear to me for that matter," I point a finger at him accusingly, "you're going to feel the wrath of the British Empire."

"Do you mean the same British Empire that collapsed about a decade and a half ago?" he adds mockingly. I freeze.

"You're not making me relive that memory, are you?" I ask, hoping that I'm not sounding too afraid. I'd rather not relive that memory, though. The final speech in Hong Kong which I simply couldn't sit through, and how, at the stroke of midnight, I thought I'd died. However, it turned out that, due to the loss of my last large colony, I fainted. I suppose it's somewhat similar to blood loss for a human.

Hong Kong wasn't grateful of the time and money I spent on him... neither were virtually all of the others...

I shake my head, forcing the thoughts to leave me.

"My power extends beyond simply memories. It's not as easy, but I can do it," he states, shrugging.

Without even the usual introduction to one of my worst moments, he whisks me away to a different scene.

A scene in a Victorian town.

After a stunned pause, I whisper to myself, "I recognise this street."

My eyes widen, and I turn in the direction of a certain house.

"Oh, God, no," I mutter, as I hear a scream:

"DAD, NO!"


	35. Liz

**Warning - violence, a couple of swears and character death. ((Purple Hibiscus's influence))**

**I'd feel weird saying 'enjoy' with such content...**

**By the way, quick status update: I've planned this fic up to the end, and the sprequel (simultaneously the sequel and prequel) almost to the end. There's only one gap in each, and I'm working on resolving those. The riddle I mentioned a few chapters ago is no longer going to be happening, but I have finished it, so if you're interested in a little bit of puzzle-solving and maths, just ask!**

**Wow. That was a long note. Without delay, then...**

* * *

I know whose voice that is. Liz is inside that house, which instinctively makes me want to run there and protect her. But, since this is a dream of the past, I wouldn't be able to do anything. So what do I do? Run away?

Ruhtra makes the decision for me, his voice booming in my head - he has a serious deification complex.

"You might have a memory of being on this street..." he begins, and I notice my past self, top hat and all, racing around the corner with a worried look on his face. He stops outside the door of the house, as muffled screams ring out from inside.

His hand flies to the door handle and twists it, but the door doesn't open. He jiggles it around, tugging so hard that it looks as if the door's going to break.

"...but do you remember what it looked like inside the house?" he finishes.

"No," I mutter in reply, still transfixed on my past self. He bangs a fist against the door in desperation, trying to force it open. He hits it again and again, but then I notice something.

Half of the thumping isn't from him. It must be coming from inside.

Suddenly, unlike the gradual fading of being transported to a memory or waking up, my surroundings snap from the street to inside Liz's house, as it used to be: no broken windows, no rotten floorboards...

"I've had enough of you, you little brat!" shouts a deep voice, with a slight slur.

Liz runs out of the next room, screaming. She looks no younger than she does today, and is wearing the same outfit as always, except she isn't a ghost.

Does that mean this is when she...?

She looks back in terror, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Her hair whips around with her, blocking her peripheral vision, and she doesn't notice the vase before she hits it.

A vase of turquoise glass, containing a single snowdrop, crashes to the ground. It shatters into fragments, and she only notices the sound just before her next footfall lands directly onto the glass.

I wince as she screams in pain, the glass cutting into her foot. Her stride falters, and she crushes the snowdrop beneath her toes.

Her father, an overweight, middle-aged man, emerges from the kitchen, rolling-pin in hand. He stops, noticing the broken glass on the floor, and stares at it wordlessly. Liz looks at him fearfully as he catches his breath; he'd probably been chasing her around the house.

"What," he breathes in roughly, "have you done?!"

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy, i-i-it was an a-accident!" she stammers, taking an instinctive step back. This reveals a spreading blot of red in the puddle of water.

"Do you think I'm rich?" he asks in a tone that shows he'll only accept one answer. "Do you think I can afford anything?"

She shakes her head frantically, but her father steps forwards anyway, raising the rolling-pin to eye level, as if studying it to see the damage it would cause.

Remaining frozen out of fear, her frail form trembles.

That drunk bastard always bought food for his wife and himself, then spent the rest of his wages on beer. Of course he couldn't afford anything, even as essential as feeding his own child properly. Whenever Liz was sent out on an errand, she would always stop by my house, and I would always give her some food. She ate her food as quickly as possible, since her father would beat her if she took too much time.

Every time I saw her, she had another injury: a black eye, another purple blotch on her arm, a scar on her cheek, dried blood on her hair...

I never had enough time to treat her wounds.

I asked her so many times why she didn't run away from home. I told her I'd protect her. But she was so afraid that her father would kill her that she said no every time.

Fearful tears stream down her face; she knows what's coming. I look back at her father, who's slowly advancing, asking her questions and telling her what no child deserves to be told.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it's been to raise you? All you do is demand more."

"F-father, y-you never g-g-give me enough food to survive..."

"How dare you talk back to me!" he snaps, stamping one foot on the floor to add clout to his point. She flinches with the loud noise. "If I don't give you any food, how are you still alive?"

He's merely a few more footsteps from her, and closes the distance with heavy, badly co-ordinated steps. He slaps her hard across the face, and even I can feel it sting.

"Bitch! You don't even deserve to be alive!"

His words fill me with rage, and seeing Liz defenceless, clutching her reddening cheek, I feel a strong need to step in and stop him. But that would be ineffective; this whole situation is no longer real.

"This happened a century ago," I whisper to myself, attempting to provide some solace.

My past self throws himself at the door, fiercely attacking it with his shoulder. It was only after this day that I learnt the spell to break down doors. Why didn't I learn it earlier?

Liz's father raises the rolling-pin, and she lifts both arms to cover her head. He brings it down on one of her arms, and she cries out in pain.

"You worthless little-" His profanity is cut off by her scream, as he whacks her with the rolling-pin again. He yells at her over and over, punctuating each sentence with continuous hits.

"You didn't even deserve everything I did for you!" he shouts, blowing the stench of his bad breath, teeming with alcohol, towards me.

He lets out a string of horrible insults, all while turning Liz's arms into a mess of blue and purple bruises. The display causes me to clench my fists at my sides, trying desperately not to throw myself at him and stop this mistreatment.

"It wouldn't work," I tell myself. "This is in the past."

He lifts the rolling-pin above his head.

"Liz is fine now. Liz is fine now. Liz is fine now," I mumble repeatedly, closing my eyes tightly and focusing on my words.

My eyes snap open, but not out of my own choosing.

"Watch," Ruhtra snaps.

Liz sobs loudly, her arms slackening as the pain coaxes all feeling out of them. She tries to keep them held above her head, her only shield, but they're beginning to slide off.

Soon her head will be exposed, unprotected.

"You're a disgrace to this family!" he screams in her face, kicking her in the shin. Unlike her, he has shoes on, made of hard leather.

She cries out, falling to her knees. Her voice is hoarse from crying and screaming, and she lets out a strangled yelp as he kicks her again, knocking her to the ground. Her face lands on broken glass, but she doesn't seem to notice.

I feel disoriented just watching her have such pain inflicted on her. She curls up into the foetal position, and gives up screaming. Her father wouldn't care, and I, a century ago, had no way of getting inside. She does nothing more than curl more tightly into herself, praying that this will end.

An especially hard kick digs into her, and her eyes start to slip closed. The thumps echo throughout the hallway, as the toe of his shoe bruises her again and again, increasing in tempo.

She abruptly goes limp, and my vision blurs with tears.

"H-how could I have let this happen?" I choke out.

"Liz?" says an equally tearful voice, except it's from outside. "Liz, can you hear me?"

Liz's father turns to the door, clenching his teeth and growling. He steps around Liz, spitting on her in the process, which makes my blood boil, and makes his way over to the door.

If only I'd remembered the spell to kill a person on that day. I'd forgotten it a while before then, due to not needing to use it.

Until then. It was then that I was convinced he needed to die.

But he was strong, and simply pushed me away, slamming the door in my face. And that's the exact exchange happening 'now'.

My past self tries to shove past him, calling out Liz's name. He sees her curled up on the floor, and falls silent. In this moment of weakness, Liz's father slams the door in his face.

I stumble over to her corpse and stare at her. Blood drips to the ground from the cuts on her face, and her arms are so bruised that there's almost no peach skin left past the purple and black blemishes.

I drop to my knees.

"How could I have let this happen?" I repeat, as my surroundings fade back to the cave. I lose sight of her body, which is replaced by Ruhtra's feet, obscured by the pine-green cloak.

"Nice to see you know your place," Ruhtra teases, "kneeling at my feet."

I lunge forward to tackle him to the ground, but he side-steps my attack. Hitting the ground reminds me of how Liz was knocked to the floor, and I notice myself beginning to cry.

"Awh, did that hurt?" he croons mockingly.

"No. It's the memory you showed me that hurt," I retort, pushing myself up to my feet and wiping my eyes.

"That was a century ago, as you said. You should be over it by now."

My hands tremble with anger at my sides, clenching and unclenching, as I debate whether I should attack Ruhtra for this, for every night, every memory.

I don't even know who's been looking after the country during the past three days!

In any case, if he doesn't stop with these memories, I'll regret not killing him earlier. He's a clone, right? He said so himself.

"Your life isn't worth anything," I mumble.

"You're just like the Arthur I used to know," he replies without hesitation, and I imagine he's smiling under that hood.

"The Arthur I shall become?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. No, it doesn't take as much effort as America or France would joke about. Anyway, they're thicker than my eyebrows.

Ruhtra nods.

"Did you not think this through?" I ask, crushing my fingers into fists. "Of course I'm going to hate you once you're created, considering you've given me so many reasons to hate you."

The glowing, yellow blobs he calls eyes widen in realisation.

"Dammit."

I chuckle lightly. "And you say that all namuhs are doing this to their respective countries?"

"Well, yes..."

"Then if Russia and Greece killed their clones..." I trail off, to laugh loudly, as a maniacal grin breaks across my face. I might just be going insane.

"...I'm going to do a favour for everyone else."

After all, I am about to embark on a killing spree.

"I'm going to murder you all."

* * *

**((Like I said, Sakura, I went for desperation and insanity.))**

**Just a little bit of symbolism: snowdrops represent hope.**


	36. Single-Handed Massacre

**Bear in mind that namuhs are, on the whole, pretty stupid. It's not as if a clone for preserving memories would need to be clever. That would've made the designing process longer and more arduous. :)**

**Alright, England is now semi-officially insane. Maybe you should play iNSaNiTY in the background while reading this, because it's an awesome song. :3**

* * *

Ruhtra turns around and flees, casting a quick spell over his shoulder to disorient me. The cave around me blurs and wobbles, pulsating along with the sudden ache in my head. I stumble, trying to regain my balance.

Needless to say, it worked, and Ruhtra might be out of sight, but he hasn't stopped me. Nothing can stop anyone when they're in Russia-mode.

"I'm going to find you~" I taunt. "I might not have Busby's chair with me, but I have a plethora of useful spells..."

He's going to get what he deserves for this trouble. If Russia and Greece have managed to kill (at least) three namuhs between them without magic, I can massacre the other two hundred with it. It'll be like the "War of All Time" Ruhtra mentioned, except it's me against a group of clones. If they're all as stupid as Ruhtra...

"This'll be easy," I finish aloud, laughing. This is for the sake of Emmakala, Egypt, possibly Romania... wait, I haven't had a status update from him in a while. If Rimidalv's been giving him grief, that just strengthens my desire to slaughter them all, to stop them now.

"Lá Eallwealdan! Mé íewaþ Ruhtra!" I hiss, and unsurprisingly a red spark appears in front of me. It leads me down one of the tunnels, and I follow it in a run. The first namuh I see is going to contribute to making the floor as red as the spark originally was.

As I travel further, the tunnel darkens, but I keep on going since the now-green spark is obviously still visible.

Soon, though, the tunnel gets brighter again. Could this be the exit?

Instead of the exit, the spark leads me through another large cavern, except much larger than the other. In fact, it seems to be the namuhs' village, full of tightly-packed rock houses, and even a few flower-planters, filled with bluebells and violets. Unlike the snowdrop in Liz's house, which I'd rather not think about, they don't seem to mean anything; they're just pretty flowers.

A few of the smaller namuhs hanging around notice my presence, registering the bloodthirsty look on my face, glowing eyes and all. Before they can shout for help, I silence them with a spell.

As the spark heads off down a tunnel, I make a mental note of its direction. I can deal with Ruhtra later.

The aforementioned namuhs look at me, shaking, panicking due to their loss of speech. They stay rooted to the spot, too afraid to make a run for it.

I almost feel guilty for their approaching deaths by my hand.

Almost.

These namuhs are all monsters. And, even though these namuhs are short, they can't be children. I suppose that since they're the clones of countries, they'll be the same size as them, which has very little to do with actual age.

Plus, they're not human. They're a group of fakes, who have only caused problems to me and who knows how many other nations.

"Forféraþ!" I call out, casting the spell to both end their lives and banish them from becoming ghosts, lingering on this physical plane. They don't react for a moment, then clutch their chests almost simultaneously, feeling the lack of heartbeat. As they collapse to the floor, I chuckle.

It seems that after Ruhtra's made me watch humans from the past die, I'm watching namuhs from the future die.

Adrenaline seeps through me, and I place my hands on my hips, challenging the surrounding namuhs who have turned to face me, one by one.

The area fills with screaming and yelling, as some of them try to flee. I keep an eye on the exits to the area, of which there are only two, and shoot down any escaping namuhs with spells. Soon, there are enough bodies to slow down any other namuhs who dare to escape.

It's like those first-person-shooter games, which America usually plays at my house, expecting me to join. I usually opt out and read a book instead, which probably explains my inaccuracy with these spells. Lack of practice.

It's not a problem. That fact just gives each namuh about two more seconds to live.

Panicked, the remaining namuhs, with their numbers quickly dwindling, duck for cover behind whatever they can find. They seem nigh human, but that's not going to make me have mercy on them. Oh no. I was merciful enough during my first meeting with Ruhtra, and I've paid for that dearly.

Once all the namuhs are gone, I can find Emmakala. I can save her.

"Does anyone know of the saying 'you can run, but you can't hide'?" I ask, a teasing, open question to the living namuhs, all concealed from my vision behind objects. Do they really think that'll save them? All I need to do is walk to the other side of a flower planter or house. "Right now, you can't do either. I'm going to make you pay," I snarl menacingly.

"Ábricaþ!" I yell, sending a powerful, destructive wind to my immediate surroundings. The flower planters shatter, covering the namuhs hiding there in dirt and torn petals. As they wipe the dirt from their eyes, trying to see again so they can escape, I slaughter them with a few deft flicks of my hand and the same spell I've repeated several times now.

I stalk my way over to one of the makeshift 'streets', and continue throughout the entire village, slaying all namuhs in my path until there are none left within view.

I pause, holding my breath so that I can hear the sounds of any more namuhs. One shuffles slightly in discomfort from their hiding place. Big mistake. I track the sound down to a house nearby, which several namuhs have used as a shelter, adding them to the congregation of namuh ghosts.

After their screams stop echoing, silence descends upon the cave once more. I smirk, feeling as if I haven't yet reached my quota of 200+ yet.

I tear through each and every house, managing to discover a few more namuhs. Wide-eyed, none of them know how to defend themselves.

Just like Liz.

I freeze mid-spell, towering above a namuh, its arms raised in vain to protect itself.

"Am I no better than her father?" I ask myself, aloud, in a low voice. The namuh below me lowers its arms cautiously.

Yes. Yes I am better than him. Liz is a human, and a good person. These namuhs, however, only exist to bring people suffering. Who is it going to be? Their pointless lives, or the sanity, maybe even lives, of my fellow nations?

Would they have stopped there? Would they have driven every nation into depression, even suicide, and then stopped? No. They would plague the entire human race with nightmares. There would truly have been no peace in sleep.

I raise my arm again, and throw it down in a gesture while crying out.

"Forfére!"

The namuh drops dead, and I make my way outside the house again.

It appears that I've gone in a full circle around the central square, an area that looks like a garden patio, littered with broken pieces of flower planters and a few dead namuhs.

Serves them right. Who did they think they were, to mess with me?

In the afterglow, while standing in the middle of dead silence, surrounded by the results of my massacre, I only just remember that Ruhtra's escaped me.

Escaped me? No, that's the wrong phrase. I meant to say 'briefly delayed his execution'. The spell from earlier must've sent me a mental image of his state, but I probably wasn't paying attention to anything but the slaughter.

"Right," I whisper, but my voice sounds loud with no background noise, "it's time."

I carefully step over the bodies of the many fallen, creeping towards the tunnel Ruhtra headed down. I stop at its entrance, and turn around slowly to survey the destruction I'm leaving behind.

"Heh," I mutter, a murderous smile spreading across my face. Perhaps the ground won't be painted red after all, due to the spell I used, but nevertheless. These namuhs won't be bothering anyone ever again, now that I've sent them to their graves. I turn back to the tunnel ahead of me, knowing that Ruhtra's somewhere along it.

Taking a step forwards, I mutter, "Over two hundred down, one to go."


	37. I've Found You

**Note on spells: Latin is all lower case (apart from names, places and the like), so don't tell me I forgot to use capital letters. XD**

**There's an epilogue after this, which will most likely include some massive note about how much I love you guys, and a whole bunch of apologies for not replying to half the reviews, but I appreciate every one of them, and every one of you.**

**Oh look, I just covered everything I was going to hold off for the last chapter.**

* * *

The tunnel ahead splits off into two directions, but just before I can cast the spell to find Ruhtra, a voice booms through the caves.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I look behind me, seeing Aea's massive figure looming over me. Damn, I forgot about her. Not to worry, though; she has no backup. I've killed them all, and Ruhtra's still nowhere to be seen.

"Look who decided to _finally_ show up," I tease, stepping round to face her. "It's a shame you're too late to save your subordinates." A smile cracks across my face.

"tace!" she shouts. The spell silences me. I must admit, that was well played; I didn't pick up on the Latin quickly enough, since I'm used to using Old English for spells.

"How can you be so monstrous, to kill my followers? No, more than that, my _friends_?" She crumples up her sleeves with her hands, clenching them in shaking fists.

I want to point out that it's pointless asking questions if she's made it impossible for me to answer them. But, since I'm silenced, I decide to humour her. I can't even whisper any spells to attack her, or fix my voice...

Wait. I can't whisper any spells. She's effectively rendered me useless, seeing as I don't have any weapons.

"Tell me why you believe yourself to be at such a high echelon that you can behave in such a manner!" she screams in my face, and I recoil to avoid getting ear damage. "WELL?! Say something!"

I roll my eyes and point at my mouth.

"Oh... right," she responds, a little sheepishly. "loquere!"

Smiling maniacally, and looking slightly downwards, I say nothing. Even though I have the ability to speak, I hold off from doing so.

"Speak to me," she demands.

"That was a very bad move," I reply.

"Oh, so now you realise that, after murdering TWO HUNDRED people!" she snaps.

"That's not what I was referring to. Now that I can speak, I can cast spells," I respond in a snarky tone, before muttering the killing spell.

"Well, f-" she starts, but is cut off by panic as her heart stops. She falls to her knees; my cue to get a move on. I summon another spark and follow it down the tunnel to the left.

"Famous last words," I mutter under my breath, as I get closer and closer to Ruhtra's hiding place. With all of the namuhs being so stupid, this is almost too easy.

I imagine the sound my footsteps make as a clock ticking down to his demise. It's an accurate enough image. Soon, the hand of the clock will swing round to him, and it'll all be over.

I'll be free. Emmakala will be free.

We can go back to normal life. I won't have to remember everything that's happened in my life anywhere near as often. I can have any dreams my subconscious creates.

I lose track of the spark as it disappears behind a rock, but the image of Ruthra, cowering in the dark, enters my head less than a second later.

"I've found you," I say, in a creepy sing-song voice. I peek over the top of the rock, seeing Ruhtra shudder as soon as he notices me. My eyes feel as if they're on fire, burning hotter than the one that consumed London. The memory only serves to fuel my rage.

"You're the last one to die. I really wish I had weapons on my person so I could kill you more painfully, but I only have magic." He stares at me fearfully. If only I could see his face properly...

I throw his hood back, hoping to steal his dignity in his final moments. His face is the one thing he's hidden from me all this time.

Now exposed, I can barely see his features in the shade of this rock. He quickly tries to pull his hood back on, but I stop him, twisting his arm painfully.

Suddenly, the ground below my feet begins to fade away, replaced by dirt. Due to Ruhtra's panic, the transition takes longer than usual, and the cave doesn't disappear yet. I feel a raindrop hit me, and look up to see more rain falling, despite the cave's roof still being there.

I'd recognise this combination anywhere. The American Revolutionary War. In an attempt to halt the transition, I twist Ruhtra's arm further to break his concentration. It works, leaving my wet hair as the only proof it just happened.

"Nice try. Why do you think you're better than me?" I ask, as he stands up to try to lessen the pain of my grip. His face catches the light, and I see his face. His artificial eyes are partially obscured as he scrunches his eyelids, almost shut, in pain. Scabs cover his face, almost completely faded, but still visible. His mouth is twisted into a grimace, in turn contorting one of these burn marks.

I trail one finger down his face, feeling the rough yet sensitive wounds. "Why do you think you're better than me," I repeat, "when you're the freak?"

I force myself not to kick him in the shins as hard as possible. Despite everything he's done, there's still a code of chivalry.

Then I look even more closely at his face. One of his eyebrows has been burnt down to a normal size, yet the other is still thick enough for him to pass as my clone. As for his hair, it's the same black as mine currently is. A few clumps of it are missing, probably burnt off as well, leaving just half of his fringe and a couple of bald patches.

"Anything you'd like to say before I kill you?" I ask, glaring at him. He glances away, possibly because the glow is hurting him. Oh, poor little Ruhtra.

"Th-th-there'll... be... c-consequences!" he stammers, trying to appear brave.

"Is that so?" I reply in amusement. "It'd be a shame to kill you so soon, when I could be so much crueller. Then again, you've already suffered any punishment I'll give you in the future, if I am to believe you. Tell me, is that story you told me, about you travelling back in time, true?"

"Yes," he replies, looking guiltily at the ground.

"Is there anything I have to bear in mind for the future?"

"Nothing..."

This is it. This is the moment when I destroy him. It would be awesome if I had a special catchphrase to say before he leaves this mortal coil behind, but I don't have any.

So I cut to the chase and yell the spell to end his life.

"...except for the fact that when I die, you'll never be able to return here," he finishes as quickly as possible, before the panic sets in. He falls to the ground, both freaking out and laughing at the same time. "Emmakala's stuck here."

I process his words in my mind; he spoke them too fast for me to understand immediately. By the time I realise what he said, he's stopped laughing. His eyes remain open, and a twisted grin plasters his face, mid-laugh.

"No," I mutter, as everything darkens. I look at my hands, and they're fading away as well. A tingling feeling rises up in me, as I am torn away from this world.

"NO!" I scream. Ruhtra seems to be drifting far away from me. An unseen force drags me back, tugging relentlessly. I look from side to side, seeing the very fabric of this dimension collapsing. As some of the cave wall disappears, I catch a passing glimpse of a terrified face.

Emmakala.

* * *

I wake up with a jolt. The shock of being torn from that world, which was what I'd wanted up until it actually happened, muddles my mind so that I can't think of any plans. My hair is cold, drenched in sweat.

Finally, I come to my senses.

"It can't be true!" I cry out, leaping from my bed onto the floor. I tear through the house in desperation, rushing to reach the drawer full of fairy dust. If I just take a dosage of it, I'll go back! Ruhtra's never told the truth, so why should I believe him now?

On the way, I just about notice a flash of blonde and green in the hall mirror, out of the corner of my eye.

I tug the drawer open with such force that I almost break it. Then, I grab the soporific dust in one hand, getting an entire fistful, and throw it into my face. I cough for a second, and next, black out from the overdose.

* * *

I wake up later after a dreamless sleep.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I yell. "I can't give up, I can't!"

An idea occurs to me: to find her in this world and wake her up. That would work. Wouldn't she have been pulled away from that world as well, when Ruhtra died?

I summon a spark. It appears at my eye level, hovering there, a blood-red colour.

And it does absolutely nothing.

Staring into it hopefully, I cross my fingers. This spell has to work. She has to be in this world, even if she is asleep. There's no way that the spark wouldn't find her.

Yet, it disappears. That can only mean one thing.

"She can't be trapped there forever. She can't," I tell myself, shaking my head, but I believe my own words less and less with each failure.

Tears of molten glass gather at the corners of my eyes, dripping down my face. I've failed her. How could I have been so caught up on that madness, that I prioritised slaughtering the namuhs over her safety?

To top it all off, I have nobody to comfort me. I must've been out cold for so long that they all left. Liz probably went back to her home. Fialina must've gone with Gwimiri. Flying Mint Bunny wasn't even here today, to my knowledge, and the same applies to Uni. I'm alone.

Distressed and not knowing what to do, I return to my bedroom. At least I can be slightly more comfortable to mull over the stupidity of my actions.

The clock reads 5:12 PM.

I throw it against the wall.


	38. Epilogue

**I think I'm going to take a break from writing before I start the sequel to this (plus I need to think of a title for it).**

**Well, writing this has been enjoyable, and I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with me throughout this, for their support, reviews and friendship. :) I love you guys.**

**I'll stop getting emotional now.**

**So, this epilogue is set in March 2017 (about 51.2 months later, for the numerical significance). The sequel's going to be set at the date Ruhtra mentioned - 2079 - onwards.**

**Here we go.**

* * *

I've finally decided to show my face at a world conference. I can't trust my brothers to do all the work with representing the United Kingdom instead of me. Also, I do have to do something with my life, after all. I can't brood forever.

Ever since that night, the night when I failed to save Emmakala, I closed myself off from the world. I stopped answering my phone, stopped replying to my emails, and rarely left the house except to buy essentials.

My brothers came over to my house one day. They might be a bunch of nuisances, but it seems that they actually care about me. Of course, when they asked me if I'd like them to take my place at meetings, I just told them to do whatever they wanted and bugger off. They said something else, about Peter possibly helping out as well, but I told them I simply didn't care and ushered them out of my room.

Maybe people have sent me some complaints, but it's not like I've been paying attention. I can't stop thinking about Emmakala. I flick through her poetry book as often as I look in the mirror, checking to see if my hair has changed back to black, my eyes to red.

I've never seen my blonde hair and emerald-green eyes as such a bad thing before.

Sleeping is torturous. The only time I sleep is when I literally can't keep my eyes open, and collapse out of exhaustion. Then, in my dreams, I can only see Emmakala. I can only hear her voice, crying out for help, as tears stream down her face from the pain.

A few times, I've actually dreamt about the dream world. I've tried to save Emmakala so many times, dashing past dead namuhs, searching the caves, but every time she comes into view I wake up. Obviously, that's not the 'real' dream world. It's just a normal dream to fill me with false hope.

It feels so wrong to be happy and sociable when she's trapped in a world of nothing but blistering pain and... emptiness. Silence. There's no hope of anyone rescuing her.

And she can't die. The Fae can only die of natural causes once their purpose in life has been fulfilled. They could probably commit suicide or be murdered (which rarely happens but it does, unfortunately), but that's impossible in Emmakala's state.

I wonder how it feels, to be truly alone. Not the feeling I've experienced, solitude through Splendid Isolation, voluntary loneliness, but being the only person alive in a dead world.

I've tried so many spells to return to that dream world, but nothing works. She's been trapped there for a few years already, and it'll be a few hundred until she's released... if ever.

If only I could un-think those last two words. I wish I knew what's going to happen next, but the only person who knows what's happening next is Emmakala.

I hope that she's seen the point in time when she'll be rescued.

Maybe she knows what's happening here, that the recession has worsened. I used to stay in this modest house because, well, it's rather quaint and homely, with a forest nearby and no choking pollution. But nowadays, I don't think even I could afford to get a much larger home. I'm not too sure why exactly money is shorter - I've only heard snippets of conversations from people walking past.

In fact, it's because of the recession that Fialina left; she had to help Gwimiri and Dricien with their business. I saw the note she left a few months after her disappearance. I suppose I felt slightly better after seeing it, but her not hating me doesn't release Emmakala from her prison.

She also said on the note that she'd stay in contact, but I'm not staying in contact with anyone anyway. It makes no difference.

I don't even open my letters anymore. Every time I leave the house, there's always a small mound of unopened mail, which I shove aside.

Sometimes, though, there are notes. Messages from people who, after knocking on the door and receiving no response, just put a note through instead. I just can't ignore them.

That's how I found out that Auvien and Jolene's business closed down. I've had a note from the former, in small letters, telling me that Gwimiri offered for him to help out with the business as well, and from the latter, saying that she's trying to find a job elsewhere. Her handwriting is graceful, almost eloquent in itself. I had to read it twice to focus on the actual meanings of the words.

I hope that they're all okay.

The train stops, ending the last leg of my journey. The conference hall is just around the corner. As I make my way over to it, I check the time; three minutes until the meeting begins.

I stop outside the door. Once I walk into that room, everyone will be there. They'll try to talk to me, and ask me where I've been all this time.

I consider turning around for a second, but then I decide to just walk in. Lazily, I push the door open and begin to walk to wherever my brothers are, so I can tell them that they don't need to stay.

It feels as if everyone's eyes are on me. The room becomes quieter and quieter, and out of the corner of my eyes I can see people staring at me, mouths agape.

I spot Scotland's red hair, and make my way over to him. It turns out that he's saved a chair for me all this time, hoping for my return. I turn the corners of my mouth up slightly, in a forced smile, and sit down, trying to ignore the crowd accumulating around me.

The voices all blur together, all asking me where I've been, why I haven't turned up, what the matter is. Among them are France, joking about how he thought the black sheep of Europe would never return, Romania, who seems genuinely concerned, and Prussia, who comments on how unawesome my absence was.

I tell them all to sod off, no matter whether they really care or if they're just teasing me, but none of them stop speaking.

After too long, I slam my hand on the table and yell at them to leave me alone. Some of them, like France and Italy, retreat - obviously. Others stare at me with wide eyes, not speaking. Romania eventually puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Whatever it is, I'm here for you," he says, smiling, beckoning his cousin closer.

"Um, yeah, what he said," Prussia laughs, then becoming a little more serious. In a quieter tone, he asks me whether I want to talk about it. Prussia being serious for once is surprising in itself, but caring as well?

When I don't reply, he says to me something about how he and Romania are always ready to help, and he doesn't want to see me feeling unawesome (that isn't even a word). I turn down his suggestion to go drinking so I can open up a bit more and talk about it. Alcohol would just make me feel worse.

Prussia pats me on the back and stands up, facing the gathered crowd.

"Right, everyone, England's going through some difficult times right now. If any of you bother him," he folds his arms threateningly, "you'll face my Prussian might. Is that understood?!"

The assembled nations nod fearfully. Since Prussia's usually so laid-back, or flaunting his apparent awesomeness, such a display is rare. They usually laugh whenever he mentions 'mighty Prussia' - "you don't even have an army!" - but this time, he's shown his true ferocity.

He returns to his seat next to Germany, who stares at his brother in mild shock and possibly admiration. Everyone else, having some sense, also returns to their seats. Romania respectfully keeps his distance, knowing that I don't wish to talk.

Then, such pure emotion overwhelms me. Not because of Emmakala being locked away, nothing like that, but after holing myself up for so long, I've almost forgotten what it's like to have someone... care.

I can't remember the last time I cried in public.

* * *

It feels like ages, but in reality it's only a few minutes until the clock reads nine o'clock. Egypt stands up. Being the host country, he's expected to speak, but there's no way he could speak in front of so many people.

The last time Egypt was the host country for a world conference, Germany had to introduce the meeting instead.

But, to my surprise, he introduces the topics for today's meeting with ease. I can barely recognise his voice, since he so rarely says anything. I don't think I'd even know it was him if I couldn't see him.

A glance around the room quickly reveals that I'm the only one who's surprised.

"Oi, Scottie," I whisper, nudging my brother next to me. He stirs, as if he's just drifted off already, and lazily turns to acknowledge me. "Where did Egypt get all of this confidence from?"

He looks over to Egypt with a blank expression, as if he never took any notice of this fact.

"He's been like this a few years," he replies. "What, did you close yourself off from everyone for that long?"

I laugh drily at his attempted humour, and start paying attention to the actual meeting, or trying to.

Egypt seems so happy. Maybe he could never speak because of what he saw in his dreams. But now that he's been liberated from those memories, he's happier.

Then I notice something else - his eyes are green. They were brown last time I saw him. His hair might have changed colour as well, but I can't see it past his keffiyeh. He really did suffer the same things as I did.

At least I've done some good.

Hopefully, in the future, I won't have to stop him from killing all of the namuhs there and then. That would most likely cause a paradox.

Or, who knows, he might actually help the namuhs because he believed every detail of their story?

I dismiss the thought. That's ridiculous. I know he's family-oriented, and probably sees Atsu as family because he's a clone of him, but there's no way he would go that far.

In fact, there are some other people who probably have something against the namuhs as well. I suppose I do, but I'm more to blame for Emmakala being stuck in the dream world forever.

No. Not forever. There has to be a way to free her. Wouldn't the namuhs be able to transport me there, were I to gain their trust?

I guess all I can do now is wait for the future, and plan ahead to 2079.


End file.
